Intimations of Mortality
by Laurie M
Summary: December 2259. As New Year approaches, the station finds itself under another threat within. A serial killer is terrorising Downbelow and takes a personal interest in Sheridan and the people close to him.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** J M Straczynski, Babylonian Productions ™ and Warner Productions ™ own the rights to all of the characters and places contained in this story.

**Author's Note:** This forms part of my on-going re-write project. I had intended to complete the first _Parallels_ sequel – but this story wouldn't leave me alone, so... This is set over the New Year of 2259 and contains scenes of violence and allusions to torture.

INTIMATIONS OF MORTALITY

By Laurie

_**Prologue**_

The eyes on the other side of the grille were hard. What little sympathy they had ever contained had vanished long ago. The girl shivered involuntarily.

'I can give you fifty.'

'Fifty?' She stared at him. 'But it's worth more than that. It's worth a lot more, it's an heirloom.'

He shrugged. 'Fifty's the best offer. You want it or not?'

She chewed her lower lip. She had worn that ring everyday since she was thirteen. Three bands of gold - red, yellow and white - interlinked to form the ring. It had been in her mother's family for over a hundred years. It was the only thing she had left of a life that had once been. And the only thing she had left to sell. But the money was almost gone... But fifty was a negligible amount and when it ran out, what then?

'No, I- No, I don't want it. Please, just give me my ring back.'

The pawnbroker had the look of someone who hadn't seen sunlight in years, like some blind, albino creature they found deep underground. The thick lenses of his glasses glittered weirdly in the meagre lighting. There was a twitch of his lips and she wasn't sure if it was displeasure or if he simply derived some amusement from her distress. His fingers still held the ring.

'Please.' She pressed her hand against the grille.

Another twitch. He dropped the ring; it clattered in the metal tray and she squeezed her fingers beneath the grille to retrieve it. 'Th-thank you.' She had always been too polite, she told herself. People saw politeness and saw it as stupidity. Her hand closed tightly around the precious object, metal biting into her skin. She kept her head down, trying to avoid making eye contact. That was easy enough – most people here tried to avoid making contact with anyone.

They called it a shining beacon in space. Not much shone in Downbelow, only the tragic pieces of fake jewellery worn by prostitutes and the sequins on the dresses of dancers working the unlicensed strip joints because they couldn't get anything in the decent clubs by the Zocalo. She tried to remember why she had come to Babylon 5 to begin with. Some vague idea about taking an opportunity, maybe working her way towards a ticket to Centauri Prime or somewhere else that wasn't what she used to call home. But there was no work – at least, none that could she bring herself to do.

She shivered again.

No work. No prospects. No way off.

She rounded a corner, still keeping her head down, and collided with a solid body. Hands gripped her arms, fingers digging into the flesh.

'What the fuck do you think you're doing?'

The face pressed close to hers was contorted. She had never seen an alien until she had left Earth – she couldn't tell if the creature holding her now was alien or Human. She tried to shrink away from the pressure of his hands and the stale alcohol on his breath fanning her face.

He shook her.

'I asked you what the fuck you think you're doing.'

Her mouth opened but no words came out; they seemed to be stuck halfway up her throat.

'Why don't you let her go? You're the one who crashed into her.' It was a husky voice, hard and bored.

Her interlocutor turned his head with the exaggerated slowness of the drunk. 'Stay out of it, freak.'

The insult was greeted by throaty laughter and an obscene suggestion. The girl was suddenly released and her legs failed under her. She cowered against the wall and had never felt more alone than at that moment.

'You can stand up, baby, he's gone.'

She raised her head. The hair was a screaming shade of red, the turquoise of the dress almost as bright. It matched the eye-shadow.

'Thank-you.'

One thin eyebrow was raised. 'You really are new around here, aren't you, baby?'

She blinked, nodded. Her rescuer wasn't a woman, she realised suddenly; it was a man. Beneath the heavy of layer of make-up the features were delicate, pretty even; but there was no disguising the large hands and feet, the timbre of the voice.

'Yeah. I mean, yes. I suppose.'

'Mmm.' Hands on hips, full lips pursed, the look was appraising. 'You might want to keep your head up – that way you can see where you're going.'

She nodded. 'Right.' The possibility of friendship, or at the very least the tolerance of her presence, was not something that she could dismiss, no matter where it came from. But her new companion, angling his body towards the thoroughfare, was calling out phrases that she didn't understand to passers-by. They all ended in amounts.

'Thanks for your help.' She never knew if that parting comment was heard. She still skirted the crowds but this time she tried to hold her head up, determined not to repeat the earlier scene. People didn't look at each other down here, she soon discovered; glances lasted long enough to negotiate paths around other bodies but that was all.

But then one pair of eyes did meet hers. They were rather sad, troubled eyes but the face they belonged to seemed kind. He looked young but she couldn't really tell. And then he smiled at her, tentatively. She smiled back.


	2. Chapter 2

_December 26_

'Crystals for all occasions, birthstones and answers for all of your spiritual requirements. Can I interest you in a feng shui wind chime? Guaranteed to promote inner peace…'

The market-trader beamed at her and Delenn's smile in return was forced. The Zocalo was busy at the best of times but over the past two weeks it had become more crowded, more cluttered than ever. The result of an important Human festival, she understood, and its evidence was everywhere. It was Jeffrey Sinclair who had first introduced her to the astonishing multiplicity of Earth religions, but it was from John Sheridan that she had discovered the similarities between some of those faiths and her own. It was a discussion that they had returned to over time and so it was that the brightly-coloured display selling impedimenta for the various Human religions had attracted her attention. And once she had made the mistake of showing even minimal interest, the trader had decided to show her everything he had to sell. Everything. Delenn could feel the muscles in her face beginning to hurt with the effort of keeping her forced smile in place as she said, yet again, 'Thank-you, no.'

'How about some power stones?'

'No. Thank-you.' She had made few purchases but the bag seemed to weigh heavily in her hand, digging into her palm and she scanned the crowds for a familiar face that would allow her to make her excuses. No-one. At this point, anyone would have done. Her upbringing and her own innate politeness did not permit her to simply walk away and for a moment she resented that fact. The Zocalo was as busy as ever and yet there was not one single being she recognised. There was also an extra … something in the air due to the recent Human festival of Christmas and the forthcoming celebration that would mark the end of the Earth year. Gaily-coloured decorations were in every conceivable nook. Delenn shook her head as the trader hopefully waved a small bag of stones at her, turned her attention back to the crowds.

There, on the walkway.

It was with something more than just relief that Delenn recognised the figure. John Sheridan. Even if she had not noticed him then, she would have become aware of his presence eventually. He had the knack of making himself the focus of any situation he was in, without even trying. Now, as always, he seemed unaware of the stares, the whispers, he attracted just by standing there. He seemed unaware of everything except for the woman with him. Small, blond, a vivacious smile – she would be, Delenn knew, very attractive to Human eyes.

Apart from Susan Ivanova, Delenn had rarely seen the captain in the company of a Human female and certainly not in a social situation. This was undoubtedly a social situation. He was wearing civilian clothes. Delenn watched him for a moment. He seemed relaxed, certainly; but there was something in the way he held himself, something she had noticed in many people accustomed to wearing uniforms when they were out of them. A slight awkwardness, a self-consciousness. As though they weren't quite sure what to do with themselves when stripped of the trappings that defined so much of their lives.

Both his hands rested on the woman's arms and they leaned towards each other. She was laughing and he smiled. There was closeness there, familiarity. An ease of being with one another that came from close companionship, from intimacy. And Delenn was aware of the hot spear of an emotion with which she was wholly unfamiliar. It was ridiculous, she told herself fiercely. She had no reason – and certainly no right – to feel such resentment for this woman whom she did not know. But it was resentment. And with it came a strange longing.

His eyes were full of warmth and affection. She had seen a similar look there before, more guarded but there, when he looked at her. Sometimes, when he looked at her. When she would catch his eye at times when he didn't seem to expect her to be looking at him. And she had thought that, with time, that guard might drop; that that warmth could become stronger...

Enough. She had been in error. The stall-holder made one final attempt to win her custom and Delenn, finally, abandoned any attempt at courtesy and walked away. Her path was undetermined and it was only after a few steps that she realised she was taking herself directly towards Sheridan and his pretty friend. She would have stopped, turned back, but he chose that moment to glance across the crowds and he saw her. His smile was immediate – that smile that seemed to radiate good humour into the whole room – and he called out to her.

Delenn's hesitation was momentary: she kept her head high, continued along her path and when she reached them congratulated herself on the evenness of her tone. 'Good-day, Captain Sheridan.'

Sheridan's smile did not falter but his eyes narrowed slightly. He had heard Delenn's formal tone before - usually in council meetings when she was expressing disapproval of the actions of certain councillors. But even under their most trying circumstances together she had never directed it at him. Her face was impassive. Almost rigid. Still so many things about her that he did not understand, but he knew her well enough to know that she was unsettled – distressed, even. She was subjected to abuse, he knew, from all sides. If one of her own people had said something to her there was nothing he could do; but if one of the station staff, one of his officers, had dared to insult her-

He could not ask her outright. She would tell him, only if she wished to. Part of that strange, formal dance they performed around one another.

'How are you?' Of all the banal questions, he thought, and cringed inwardly.

'I am very well. Thank-you. And you?' She sounded cold and she knew it; a slight change in his manner, something in his eyes told of his confusion and Delenn forced herself to smile.

While the pair watched and second-guessed one another, Sheridan's blonde companion observed both of them with interest. She had arrived on Babylon 5, unannounced, earlier that day as a surprise for her brother. It was a flying visit between Christmas and New Year and John had taken time off his shift to be with her. He had brought her to the market, the Zocalo, and the most interesting thing she had seen so far was the woman standing in front of her. After the ISN broadcast it would have been impossible not to know the name and face of the Minbari ambassador. Delenn. Even before that there had been John's description of her, his amazement the first time he had seen her. His letters back home and to her – more frequent this year than they had been before – mentioned all of the personnel and diplomatic corps from time to time but Delenn's name was always there, somewhere, more than any other. Elizabeth Sheridan studied her. Delenn's beauty was extraordinary. Shocking, even. The best features of both races flaunted in her face. She was mesmerising. And, as with most Minbari Elizabeth had encountered, there was an air of aloofness, detachment. It bordered on downright coldness. It seemed to infect her brother – not that he sounded cooler but he was certainly more serious than he had been before this meeting. His introduction held an unfamiliar formality.

'Liz, this is Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari Federation. Delenn, this is my sister, Elizabeth.'

It was almost imperceptible, that combination of surprise and relief. Quickly covered, but Elizabeth had seen it. And she saw the sudden warmth of the ambassador's smile and the receding anxiety in her brother's eyes.

'I am honoured to meet you.' Delenn inclined her head, her eyes dropping only momentarily from Elizabeth's face.

'And I you,' she answered. The change wasn't in her imagination, she decided; and she was equally certain that she was not imagining John's obvious admiration as he regarded Delenn. That, too, was momentary – a softness in his gaze that was immediately replaced by a good-humoured smile. 'I wasn't able to meet you the last time I visited, earlier this year.'

'Ah, yes. I was somewhat … indisposed ... at that time.' For a second, again, Delenn withdrew and then the smile returned. 'I hope that you are enjoying your stay…'

Sheridan watched both of them, feeling an inexplicable relief at Elizabeth's immediate acceptance of Delenn. Given time they might even become friends. Not the way that- It was a sudden, sobering thought. Not the way that she and Anna had been friends. There could never be that between the two, obviously. But the smiles on both sides seemed genuine and both seemed eager to form a bridge, however tentative. The new year was rapidly approaching – a new year, a new life which he had been building almost without realising it. A possible future that seemed at times like a fanciful dream - one that he guarded jealously. And he had spent too long trying to avoid the past. It seemed like a good time to try and integrate his old life with his new one. He waited for a lull in the steady stream of innocuous small talk between the two women and turned to Delenn.

'We were just going to get some lunch; why don't you join us?'

She hesitated, her eyes bright and then wistful. 'Thank-you. I would like that – very much. But I have a meeting in half an hour. Besides, I am certain that Ms Sheridan,' she offered Elizabeth a smile, 'would prefer to have you to herself.'

'Please, call me Liz. And I don't mind sharing him; perhaps we could meet later on? Coffee, maybe, once your meeting's finished?'

'I- Yes. I will look forward to that.'

'Great.' Elizabeth's smile widened. Now that she could observe both of them at close quarters, Delenn could see the fleeting resemblance between the two. It was not in the features – Elizabeth's were more delicate, her colouring fairer – but something around the eyes, the way she moved her head when she talked. The arresting warmth of her smile. There was an echo in it of that moment almost a year ago when Captain Sheridan had first greeted her. She had almost dreaded that meeting, half-expecting a monster despite the assurances from both Dr Franklin and even Lennier. Yes, she had thought that she would find someone antagonistic. An enemy. And she had found Captain Sheridan. John, she reminded herself. He had asked her to call him John.

'I will be happy to see both of you later, Liz.' The name seemed strange in her mouth. 'John.' His flowed more easily. Softer. She had practised it before.

'Yes, later.' The moment when his eyes met hers and held the gaze went on a little longer than necessary without either noticing. It was not unnoticed by Sheridan's observant sister.

When Delenn began to move down a corridor she couldn't help herself. 'Don't let John catch you under the mistletoe!'

Delenn turned back; she looked puzzled, her smile now a little uncertain and said, 'Thank-you; I will keep that in mind.'

Sheridan turned back to his sister and encountered her mocking expression.

'What?' he asked.

'Never mind "what?" ' Elizabeth inspected him. 'She seems nice.'

'Yes. Yes, she is.' There was a tone in his voice that she hadn't heard for a long time.

'You liked her?' It seemed important. He did not need his sister to like or even approve of Delenn – what would happen would happen, no matter what anyone else might think - but he wanted her to.

Elizabeth considered this. 'Let's see: I met her for about all of five minutes and most of those were spent with you looming over us looking uncomfortable-' Sheridan treated her to the sort of stare that his serving officers lived in fear of. His sister grinned in response. 'Yes. Even given the rather inauspicious circumstances, I liked her. But I'd like to get to know her better. I, uh,' Elizabeth glanced sideways at him, 'I saw that ISN report. They really went to town on her.'

A grunt in response.

'I felt sorry for her.'

'They were hard on her, but I don't think that Delenn wants or needs anyone's pity.' He laughed slightly. 'She just started reading _Eye on Minbari_ instead.' His tone hardened. 'And I hope you realise that she is now going to go around the whole station asking what mistletoe is and why I might pose some kind of a threat to her in its vicinity?'

There was that look again and Elizabeth bit back a laugh.

'I'm serious. You have no idea what you might have started.'

'A diplomatic incident? A threat to station security?'

Sheridan breathed heavily down his nose. 'All I'm saying is- Look, Delenn isn't- The Minbari aren't always familiar with our figures of speech.'

'Uh-huh.'

'They can interpret things very literally.'

'Uh-huh.' She nodded. 'Y'know, I got the impression that Ambassador Delenn may just have a sense of humour – please don't tell me that you have lost yours.' She strode into the middle of the Zocalo, her brother grumbling along behind her.

ooOoo

Commander Susan Ivanova had taken the tube from the docking bays back towards C&C and was enjoying the few precious moments of peace. Susan was not overly introspective by nature by she still valued those times when the only thoughts she had were her own and not bound up in the necessities and protocols of running the station. But she enjoyed her work and the responsibilities that her rank brought – certainly more responsibilities these days as the captain had an unending supply of tasks for her that he referred to as educational challenges that would enhance her talents but which she secretly suspected he invented for her humiliation and his own amusement. The tube stopped, the doors opened and Ivanova's chin raised slightly as she became aware of another person waiting to get in. She relaxed again.

'Ambassador.'

'Commander.' Delenn returned the greeting with her customary grace and took her place beside the commander. 'Green Seven.'

The tube moved, there was silence, then, hesitantly, 'Susan, may I ask you a question?'

She stiffened imperceptibly. Susan. Her Sunday name. She only got called that when the thing Delenn wanted to ask her was personal and potentially embarrassing for both of them. For someone who always appeared so controlled, so certain of themselves, Susan found Delenn's admittances to vulnerability rather touching – even if some of the topics they had covered left her feeling as though she were dealing with a very inquisitive teenage daughter. If nothing else it had confirmed Susan's suspicions that motherhood may be one challenge that she should circumvent. She looked at Delenn's grave face and braced herself.

'Of course; what can I help you with?'

'I was wondering about the significance of mistletoe.' She pronounced the word carefully.

Ivanova began to relax – it sounded like a fairly innocuous request.

'Someone warned me about being "caught under" it?'

'Right.' Susan nodded decisively. 'Well, it's a Human ritual. At Christmas people put up bunches of mistletoe…' Delenn's hand moved vaguely, her head tilting and Susan decided that a little more descriptive detail was necessary. 'That's the plant with white berries, people hang it from the ceiling.' A look of recognition – now they were getting somewhere. 'Well, the idea is that if somebody finds you standing under the mistletoe, you have to kiss each other.'

'Ah.' Delenn digested the information. She had seen Humans kiss one another; she had believed it to be an activity that they found pleasurable. 'And this is undesirable?'

'That depends on who finds you. Personally I think that someone invented it as a form of highly embarrassing torture.' She grimaced, remembering an encounter with a very red-faced Lieutenant Corwin a few days before.

'So you have to kiss a person with whom you are not intimate?'

It was too simple to last, Ivanova reflected. 'Well, you don't really _have_ to, no-one's going to force you into it, it's just more of a tradition that you can choose to observe. If you want to.'

'But it is an important tradition, yes?'

'To some people, maybe, I guess, but... Look, it really isn't that big a deal and to be perfectly honest most people ignore it. Or just stand there and giggle and look uncomfortable and then run. Anyway, it isn't real kissing; I mean it isn't a kiss the way that you would kiss a lover, it's just … well … a friendly little peck.'

Another tilt of the head. 'Little peck?'

It wasn't just Sheridan who dreamt up ways of tormenting her, Susan decided; the whole galaxy – no, universe – was in on it. 'Yes, just a quick...' She blew out a breath, held a hand up to her mouth and demonstrated briefly. 'Like that. On the cheek or if it's someone who's a closer acquaintance, on the lips.' She looked hopefully at Delenn. 'That clear it up?'

'Yes...' Delenn wasn't quite seeing her, Susan was sure – the other woman's eyes were focused on something wholly unconnected with their current location. She roused herself suddenly. 'Yes, that is quite clear now. Thank-you.'

'No problem.' Ivanova clapsed her hands behind her back. 'Just out of curiosity: who started you on all of this, anyway?'

'Oh, it was Captain Sheridan's sister. Elizabeth.'

'Ah.' She had had a feeling that at some point his name would come up. Susan glanced at the ambassador, noted the faint smile.

'Blue Four.' That feminine monotone was supposed to sound soothing; Susan thought it sounded bossy and she disliked being told what to do by inanimate objects. The doors slid open.

'This is my stop.'

'Thank-you again, Susan.'

'Any time.' She turned away from the tube and its occupant but her mind kept returning to that conversation. The ambassador and the captain. It was not the most unlikely friendship. The captain was a gregarious personality whose attitude seemed to be the more friends the better; Delenn, even before her transformation, had always been more openly affectionate, more demonstrative than any Minbari Susan had encountered before. And both had seemed eager to accommodate one another after their initial meeting and since then... Their first dinner at the _Fresh Air _had provided the talking point for a good week after the event. And she had seen the way they had clung to one another after Delenn had been released from the Markab isolation; had seen again the way they had been with each other after whatever-it-was had happened with the stranger from the Vorlon transport. Susan sighed and wondered if either of them truly realised the ramifications. Of course they knew, she had to admit; perhaps they just didn't care. There was no reason why they should care; it was no-one's business but their own.

The problem, she thought as she took the command deck, was that there were an awful lot of people who would want to make it their business.

ooOoo

Zack Allen found Garibaldi with his feet on a console going through the station security reports, one eye on the monitors. He looked worried.

'Any problems, Chief?' he tried to sound casual.

Garibaldi looked up at him. 'Yeah. Another female lurker's been found with her throat cut in Downbelow.' He passed the file to Zack.

He glanced at the pictures, sucked in a breath. This was one part of the job he had never got used to. He wondered if he ever would and what sort of person he would be should that day arrive. 'Nasty. That makes it, what, four now? You think it's all the same guy?'

Garibaldi nodded and raked his eye over the monitors. Tensions on the station were high as it was – they didn't need one more. Security spent most of its time breaking up fights between the Narn and the Centauri; rumblings were already starting about the delays to transports caused by the new security restrictions; and the motherload that was the looming threat of the Shadows drew ever closer. That was without taking into account the running battles in the council chambers between Londo Mollari on one side and Sheridan, backed by Delenn, on the other, and the shock over the death of Warren Keffer. The only point of unity in the whole mess was the recent appearance of a mystical being who had saved Sheridan from an abrupt and nasty end. That event had resulted in the captain being treated with an awed respect by most of the station residents and – the thing that made Garibaldi laugh the most – becoming one of the main tourist attractions. Pilgrims were arriving at the station in increasing numbers and each visitor seemed to have him down as a photo opportunity. Sheridan was in danger of being swamped each time he passed through a docking bay.

And then there was this. Over the last two months three human lurkers – all female – had been systematically tortured and murdered in a particularly brutal way. Now there was a forth. He looked at the photos of the latest victim; the face was so bruised and bloated it was barely recognizable as Human; deep purple contusions around the wrists and upper arms spoke of long hours in tight manacles; the tip of each finger cut off– The whole body broken and twisted. Garibaldi jaw tightened as he looked over the file again.

'Does the captain know about this yet?' Zack asked him.

Garibaldi shook his head, frowning thoughtfully. 'I didn't want to worry him, but now we'll need a station-wide alert, so I'll have to. He already has enough on his plate…' He stopped himself. Zack Allen was one of the good guys, or so Garibaldi told himself. He liked the young man, could see in him a steadiness and quiet intelligence that meant a lot in their world. But then the Night Watch had come along and ever since Zack had joined them, Garibaldi hadn't felt able to trust his officer as fully as he would have liked. Michael Garibaldi had never had much of a problem keeping secrets; he collected them the way some people collected matchbooks – picked them up everywhere he went. And if knowledge was power then knowing a little about a lot of people could go a long way. But even with all of that there were times when he wanted to be free of it, to be able to yell it all at the top of his voice. Or at least tell it to one other person. Once he had thought that Zack might be that person but while he still had that armband on, Garibaldi couldn't take that risk.

Zack watched his superior expectantly – but no more information was forthcoming and Zack was aware of a feeling of disappointment that was becoming more frequent. He, too, had concerns he would greatly like to share. He had joined the Night Watch with no more idea than that he would receive a few extra credits to do the job he was already doing. But now, it seemed, they wanted a whole lot more than that and some days he wasn't sure if he was guilty of paranoia for suspecting them or naïveté for having joined in the first place. But it was shaping up to be a problem he'd have to work out on his own - Garibaldi didn't seem to have much time for him these days.

The atmosphere had changed, subtly, from friendly professionalism to something more awkward.

'Well. Anything I can do to help, Chief. You know that.'

Garibaldi watched him for a moment. 'Sure, Zack. Thanks.'


	3. Chapter 3

'…So we sealed the trade negotiations by having Garibaldi teach the Pak'ma'ra Ambassador how to ride a motorcycle in the middle of the Zen Garden.' Sheridan finished his story amidst much laughter, drank some of his rapidly cooling coffee and watched Delenn over the rim of the cup. Her eyes were glowing and he wondered if he would ever recover from feeling the need to impress her every time they met.

He also had a feeling that this was something in which he failed, but she listened and laughed at his stories all the same. And so it would begin all over again the next time.

Delenn tossed hair away from her shoulder, her smile was warm but her eyes kept finding his face. 'I can recall when Lennier had been aiding Mr Garibaldi to build the machine,' she added. 'I believe that he informed me of every engine part that he handled and it appears to have become something of a passion with him: I suspect that he spends most of his credits on acquiring information on these ... motorcycles?'

Sheridan nodded then laughed. He liked Delenn's inscrutable aide well enough but he could not imagine the young Minbari feeling passionate about much of anything, let alone something so Human.

Delenn had joined him and Elizabeth at one of the cafés overlooking the gardens and the three of them had spent the afternoon deep in conversation.

John looked happy, Elizabeth thought, and she was glad to see it. He had spent too long trapped in his grief. If she had any thoughts on the irony that the person who had, apparently, captured his attention was Minbari, she buried them. The Sheridans, both brother and sister, had been taught from an early age that prejudice was an anathema, that the qualities of an individual mattered more than any failings of their race. It was a lesson that both had taken to heart to the point that neither gave it much thought anymore. Not that they were naïve or blind to tensions or differences – it was simply that they did not discriminate except on the grounds that were truly important. That Delenn was Minbari was all but irrelevant to Elizabeth; that the warmth of her personality seemed genuine, that John looked lit from within when he saw her were the things she focused on.

But that was hardly the topic for casual conversation; instead, Elizabeth replaced her cup in its saucer and asked a question that had been burning in her mind all day.

'Okay. I have a question and I would appreciate a straight answer.' She fixed her eyes on her brother and he immediately wore the same look she remembered from when their father had accosted him and he had been trying to recall which misdemeanour he was most recently guilty of. She smiled to herself. 'Ever since I arrived I've heard everyone talking about an assassination attempt, that you were nearly killed-' She broke off, turned to Delenn. 'Typically, my brother neglected to mention any of this to me.' She turned back to him. His expression now was closed, contained. Also a look that she remembered well. 'I got some of it from an ISN broadcast, which is not what I'd call the most reliable source; and the rest from vendors on the market stalls. Who told me that you were rescued by,' there was an undercurrent of laughter in her voice, 'a winged figure of light. An angel, I guess.'

Sheridan finished the cold dregs of his coffee, tried to avoid his sister's eyes. There were only two people who knew who that figure had been – and both were sitting in this café. He replaced the cup carefully, was about to answer when Delenn's smooth reply stopped him.

'There were many witnesses – most of the station residents saw what happened. A Centauri assassin made an attempt on Captain Sheridan's life; we saw him fall from the transport carriage before the explosion but there was not anything that we were able to do to help him. And then…' Her pause was only momentary. 'There was another figure - as it has been described to you: a being of light, winged, more beautiful than anything any of us has ever seen. We all saw the same thing, yet we each saw something different. Each according to their faith. None of us can say what it was or where it came from.'

It was the truth and yet, as always, Delenn had managed to conceal the facts. It was an impressive skill and one that Sheridan was grateful to have on his side. Elizabeth looked between both of them, still uncertain, but Delenn's words had swayed her and there had been a finality in her tone that would stop even his sister's inquisitiveness.

Delenn was smiling slightly, settled back against the chair. 'For many it has been taken as a sign of blessing on this place; it is certainly something that we were privileged to witness. Not to mention relieved – none of us appreciated the idea of seeing you come to such a dramatic end.'

'Except for Londo, maybe,' he replied cheerfully. 'I have to say, though, it was quite a ride.'

Sheridan looked up to where the construction teams were repairing the bomb damage miles above their heads and remembered that sensation of falling through the air. Like flying. He caught Delenn's eye again and her smile this time was small, secret and only for him. And he felt it again – yes, just like flying.

'You know,' he commented thoughtfully, 'with the right back-up equipment – and provided you didn't land in the wrong bit of the station – that would be really great. We could even build a launching platform up there next to the rails…'

'You have got to be kidding me.' Elizabeth looked at her brother in disgust.

'What?'

'My God, does EarthGov know what kind of idiot is commanding this station?'

'But all I said was-'

'Throwing yourself through the air once wasn't enough for you? You want to make suicide attempts a full-time occupation? "Oh look, here's an abyss – let me jump into it." '

He looked at her, shaking his head slightly. 'You always overreact.'

'I am not-' Elizabeth blew out a breath. 'I am not overreacting, you lunatic, I am simply stating the fact that you have some pretty stupid ideas.'

'Thanks.'

Delenn watched them, bemused. Few Minbari families had more than one child - many had none at all - and the exchange of insults between Human siblings was something she did not fully understand. There was affection behind the words, she could see that, but the difference between the intention and the expression seemed to her an unbridgeable void.

'It's a pleasure. Now that we've got that settled-'

'I haven't actually agreed to anything...' Sheridan murmured.

'John!'

He laughed. 'You should see your face.'

Elizabeth regarded him coolly then turned to Delenn. 'Is he always like this?'

'Hey, don't go dragging someone else into this.'

'I cannot imagine,' Delenn replied, 'that Mr Garibaldi or Commander Ivanova would approve of such a plan.'

Sheridan's shoulder's sagged. 'It's not for them to approve anything,' he muttered; traitor, he added silently. It was a female thing, he was convinced, and it apparently transcended race. Put two females together and any lone male didn't stand a chance. An army of males wouldn't stand a chance.

His link chimed. 'Sheridan, go.'

'Captain.' Garibaldi's voice sounded tinny. 'I'm sorry to disturb you while you're off duty but there's a situation we need you on.'

'I see. I'm assuming this really can't wait.'

'No, it's something I'd prefer to get a jump on.'

'Right.'

Sheridan glanced at Delenn. She appeared relaxed but she was listening intently. Just in case she too would be needed. But no codes were used, nothing that hinted that she should join him.

'I'm on my way. Sheridan out.' He sighed. 'I'm sorry – this place doesn't just run itself.'

Elizabeth raised a hand. 'Johnny, it's fine.'

'It shouldn't take too long, whatever it is.'

'I said it's fine – stop fussing. And get going. I'll see you later.'

He stood, straightened his jacket. 'Delenn.'

She smiled up at him, inclined her head. Both women watched him cross the café and out onto the walkway and when he had gone a silence descended in which both felt a little awkward. Now that they were on their own, each watched the other while trying to look as though she weren't.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. 'It's, uh... I guess you're all kept pretty busy around here.'

'Yes. It does feel, at times, as though one crisis has barely been resolved before another has arisen.'

Delenn, Elizabeth thought, carried such serenity with her that it was difficult to imagine that any sort of crisis would touch her.

'All the problems with the Centauri can't have helped. I was surprised by how many Narns are still here,' she added.

'Many have been granted sanctuary here.'

'Mm. We've had a lot of refugees through the hospital on Proxima. The injuries are horrific and even if they're not injured they're dehydrated, starving, traumatised; most of them are civilians: labourers, mothers with their children.' Her jaw had tightened as she spoke and Delenn saw again the resemblance between brother and sister. 'They all know that if they can get here they'll be safe.' Her face relaxed a little. 'It's good to know that someone is doing something for them. Perhaps all of those pilgrims are right – maybe this place really is blessed.'

'I hope that you are correct.' Delenn fiddled with her brooch. 'I gather that after the treaty your government signed with the Centauri your treatment of the Narn refugees is ... problematic.'

'Problematic.' Elizabeth tilted her head, vague amusement in her eyes. 'You could say that. But we're a colony and for the most part we're pretty much left to get on with things. Besides, I'm sure you know how easily bureaucratic paperwork can get lost.'

Delenn inclined her head in turn. 'Indeed. It would seem that such matters are conducted in the same manner throughout the galaxy.'

Strange the things you find in common that could bind you to someone else, Delenn thought.

'Well, I think we need more coffee and a toast to bureaucracy. What do you say?'

Delenn's eyes sparkled. 'Absolutely.'

ooOoo

Ivanova tried to avoid looking at the photographs spread across the table but, against her will, she kept being drawn back to them. It was the eyes that held the macabre fascination. Terror had been frozen into them and under their wild gazes she felt as though the room were filling with the cloying stench of blood and death. When Stepehn Franklin finally broke the silence they all started.

'Apart from the injuries, all of the victims had traces of the same narcotic in their systems: a sedative that he probably used to keep them quiet. From the forensic examination I'm ninety-nine percent certain that it is the same attacker; but I can't get a DNA sample to cross-match. Whoever it is knows exactly what they are doing and how to avoid leaving any signs on the body to give a clue to their identity.'

'We're putting out extra patrols throughout the station but especially in Downbelow,' Garibaldi put in. 'Everybody leaving the station is being double-checked. It'll cause delays in departures, but-'

'They'll just have to put up with it,' finished Sheridan. He stood up, pacing the room. 'I know that a lot of people don't care what happens to lurkers, but I do. And I don't like the idea of them being victimised more than they are already.'

So many saw Babylon 5 as a gateway to a new life. A better life, even. For some, it probably was. Sheridan hoped that was true. But for the others, those who were either running blindly or got this far before their money ran out, there was Downbelow and no further. Most of them ended up as small-time drug-pushers or prostitutes, frequently both and usually with a serious drug habit. The latest victim had no illegal narcotics in her system, no marks on her body from intravenous drug use, no recent sexual activity. Perhaps she hadn't been there long enough for that. One of Garibaldi's team had done a rendering of what she would have looked like before the attack. She had been young, very young. Wide eyes. The artist had shown her smiling.

Sheridan paused. Her eyes seemed to be following him around the room. 'Do we know what her name was?'

'Vittoria Sartarelli.' Garibaldi, like Ivanova, tried to avoid looking at the photographs. 'Seventeen years old, arrived here approximately a month ago, no family or other connections registered here. Looks like she was in Downbelow all of that time.'

All that was left of Vittoria were the twisted scraps of metal that Franklin had cut off her finger. Three different types of gold that had once been a ring.

'I've been pulling in every informer I have, but so far no-one knows anything. Believe me, if they had known they would have told me by the time I'd finished with them.' No-one asked what methods Garibaldi had employed when dealing with his informers and at the moment, no-one cared.

'Should we tell the ambassadors so that they can warn their people?'

Sheridan considered Ivanova's question carefully. 'I don't want to create a station-wide panic. So far the victims have only been Human and they have been people that no-one is going to miss. Of course, that could change and if it does I don't want us to be accused of having withheld information.' He paused briefly before giving his final decision. 'We tell the ambassadors, but emphasise that this is on a need-to-know basis and they should not start inflaming their people.'

'What about this big New Year's bash? I don't think that it's such a good idea under the circumstances.'

'Michael, while I am aware that you have an in-built mistrust of large groups of people congregating together to enjoy themselves, I think that cancelling New Year may be going too far.'

Franklin and Ivanova tried to suppress smiles while Garibaldi returned Sheridan's amused gaze.

'Hey, I enjoy a party as much as the next man – or alien – but it does make them a lot harder to control.'

'Everyone will be in the gardens; as long as we have security checks on all of the entrances and extra patrols in Downbelow, we should be okay. Shouldn't we?' Ivanova looked around the table. Sheridan nodded his assent; Garibaldi sighed, leaned back in his chair.

'Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you.'

'And on that optimistic note, we are adjourned.' Sheridan gathered up his flimsies.

Susan gently closed the buff cover over the file nearest her, moved the papers into a neat pile with a tenderness not normally displayed so openly. She looked up, noticed what looked like concern in her captain's face and straightened. 'What are you doing now, spending more time with your sister?'

'No, Commander, I am going to Downbelow.'

'What?' Garibaldi had been half-way to the door; his exclamation and Ivanova's was simultaneous.

Sheridan flinched, glanced between them. 'Do you two rehearse when you're off duty? You're starting to talk in stereo.'

'You know, I have things to do in MedLab.' Franklin grabbed his reports.

'Coward,' Sheridan called after him.

'No, survivor,' the doctor replied and vanished.

Sheridan confronted his remaining staff, tugging at his jacket. Standing before them in civilian clothing he felt almost naked. 'I don't want people in Downbelow thinking that they are less important than the rest of us; if they see that we are all on their side, we might be able to get more information out of them.'

They recognised the look: nothing short of being put into stasis would stop him from carrying out his decision.

'Okay, but I'm going to arrange a security detail to escort you and we'll map out a route for you.'

'That defeats the object. But I agree to security personnel.' There was a smile on Sheridan's lips that Garibaldi already did not like. 'Which means that you – and only you – get to come with me.'

Garibaldi turned to Ivanova conversationally. 'If I had a gun right now I'd shoot myself in the head.'

Sheridan moved past him. 'You're a real ray of sunshine, you know that?

ooOOoo

Everyone's attention was focused on the two men making their way through the crowded corridors. Some immediately shrank against the walls, turned down passages to avoid their path; some covered over their wares; others assumed airs of innocence and tried to avoid the probing stare of the security chief. Others were delighted and tried to attract the attention of the captain, who was busy chatting with traders and sampling the proffered foodstuffs. His cheerful manner concealed the fact that his eyes observed as much as Garibaldi's. But one thing that neither man realised was that they were being shadowed – had been ever since they entered Downbelow. The watcher moved with a stealth that was like clouds slowly obscuring the stars: every gesture was made with fluid control and it was only when he moved that anyone watching would have realised that he was there at all. He was not particularly interested in Garibaldi; he was always in Downbelow. But the captain… Yes, he was interested in the captain. To see him here in his official capacity was far more rare. The Military Governor. And he was playing the part with consummate skill, charming the suspicious, surly denizens of this place with his show of concern.

'Different now, Captain,' the watcher whispered, 'very official. Not like up in the Zocalo, with your pretty friend and that thing the Minbari have as their ambassador. What do you want here?' He paused, as though hearing a response to this barely audible question. 'Ah! You want me. You want to pit yourself against me. That's good. That's very good indeed. I would enjoy that.' He laughed to himself. 'But it should be more interesting; this must be a proper game. So we should have the appropriate stakes.' Again he paused, and then nodded slowly. 'I agree; I have been in the shadows for too long. I will put my anonymity against ... what of yours? What will you be prepared to give, Captain Sheridan?' He drew the name out in a long, sibilant hiss. Whatever answer he heard in this one-man dialogue appeared to satisfy him; his smile was content. Triumphant.

'I accept, Captain. I accept.'

ooOOoo

Franklin stood at the observation window, watching his latest patient thoughtfully. She must have put up quite a fight, he thought. Fight or flight, and she was clearly a fighter. She looked too fragile for whatever it was, exactly, that had happened to her. He turned his attention back to the object in his hand, turning it over and over. A brooch that had been hidden in the folds of her clothing and he wondered why she hadn't worn it openly. To avoid the muggers who'd happily slit her throat for it, he reasoned. It was an unusual piece and beautiful. He held it up to the light, examined it closely.

'Stephen?'

He straightened, found Sheridan and Garibaldi behind him.

'Hey. I thought you might want to see her.'

'Who? I got a message from Zack saying you wanted to see me. Oh, and him.' Garibaldi jerked his head at the captain.

'Sorry.' Franklin pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly closed for a moment. When he opened them again Sheridan was still calmly expectant; he avoided Garibaldi's eyes. 'We had a girl brought in about an hour ago. She'd been attacked and- Well, from the looks of things I think it might be the same man you're already looking for.'

They both stiffened, gazes immediately turning to the prostrate figure.

'She's in restraints.' Sheridan turned back to him, horrified.

'It was for her own safety: she came round briefly and didn't seem too happy; she tried to fight her way out of MedLab. The tox. screen showed the same narcotic in her system as in the other girls and apart from acting as a sedative its side-effects can include mild hallucinations.'

'Sounds like they were a bit more than mild.'

Franklin's smile was fleeting. 'She has a scalp laceration, a bad slash across one shoulder that looks like a knife-wound – she lost a lot of blood.'

'Can you get any forensic info off her?' Garibaldi perched on a desk.

'There was some skin under her fingernails, but it may have been contaminated by the blood and dirt. She must have come quite some way from where she was attacked.' He looked back towards the exam room. 'She was really lucky.'

'Where did they find her?'

'Near Green Sector.'

'Green Sector?' Sheridan frowned. Lurkers might venture up to Red Sector looking for food or casual work but they rarely went beyond. He blew out a breath. 'Can we see her?'

Franklin hesitated. 'Can't see what harm it would do. You won't get anything out of her: she's under sedation and she'll stay that way until tomorrow morning.' He looked at both men. 'Yes, fine, go in and see her. Just do me a favour and don't try waking her up, I-' His words broke off as another gurney burst through the doors.

'Never a dull moment, hey, Doc?' Franklin's face suddenly looked grey, Garibaldi thought. The man took more hits each day than any of them.

'Look, her clothes are in there – oh, and she had this on her.' Franklin thrust it at Sheridan, took off at a run.

Sheridan glanced down, stared at the brooch and was very still for a moment. He followed Garibaldi into the room, walked to the bed and looked down at the sleeping girl. Her dark hair was matted on one side, her skin pale beneath her tan.

Garibaldi searched her clothes systematically. 'Found an identicard; according to this her name's-'

'Yuki Ogawa.'

'You know her?'

Sheridan's fingers closed around the brooch. Two figures, one either side of a large stone. 'I've met her. She's a Ranger.'

A soft whistle. Garibaldi joined him, stared into the slim face. 'So that's why she got away. Man, oh man.'

'She must have been looking for Delenn.' Sheridan released a breath. 'I better go tell her what's happened.'


	4. Chapter 4

_December 27 _

You got the worst of everything in Downbelow. The quarters were smaller, grouped closer together; the noise from the station's pumps, generators and engines was louder there than anywhere else – a constant dull roar; it was the last place to receive the benefit of recycled water and air. And you could taste it as soon as you set foot there. Crossing over into Brown Sector the smell rose up like a blanket – rancid air thick with heat. It got worse the deeper you went in.

And then there were the inhabitants themselves: all races squeezed in together, most of them running from something or someone – sometimes the law and sometimes other demons, usually the type that no amount of running could lose. Drug-pushers, pimps and whores rubbed shoulders with self-proclaimed ministers preaching damnation, their madmen's eyes glittering. And there was still space for the more adventurous tourists and the respectable station residents who liked to slum it at the illegal gaming tables or in the various brothels that catered for every taste and fetish.

But the place had its own hierarchy that provided a distorted reflection of life on the rest of the station. Yes, there were the shops and stalls, the clubs and bars that were seedier versions of their more respectable cousins. But there were also the healers who were almost as well organised as Stephen Franklin; the small communities that formed and out of these emerged one or two leaders who would speak for the rest, who would mediate for the others; Humans and aliens mingled and viewed each other with as much suspicion as in the council chambers; there were even the protection rackets and the occasional vigilante who, in their way, provided a sort of security down there.

And just like the rest of Babylon 5, everyone knew what everyone else was doing unless they were asked about it, whereupon they became deaf, dumb and blind. Garibaldi had known that breaking that silence was most likely impossible but he had to do something. It was no more fruitless than sitting in his office waiting for the next woman to get her throat cut. And if that silence couldn't be broken he was just hoping that someone else would give him an excuse to break a few heads.

'Have you seen this girl? Have you seen any of these women?'

There were already fliers up everywhere, official papers asking for information. Vittoria Sartarelli's face found him everywhere he turned. Why she got to him in particular he didn't know. Maybe it was the name, a vague cultural sympathy. Maybe it was those eyes and he wondered if they had really looked so limpid in life, had her lips really been so tremulous. There were the others, he did not forget them. Veronica Ryan; Luisa Menendez; Tara Brady. All dark, all slim, all young. And the latest one, Yuki, was just the type. Ranger or no she had been lucky.

'Has anyone seen any of these women?'

Space the whole of Brown Sector and be done with it, he thought.

'You want a certain type, sugar, we can come to an arrangement.'

The voice would have been sexy if hadn't been so hard-bitten. A studied sultriness that robbed it of all feeling.

'Cute.' Garibaldi eyed his interlocutor and sighed. 'Have you seen any of these women? Look, I'm not trying to make trouble for anyone; I just want to know if anybody saw any of the girls in these photos.'

He had kept his tone level. Polite. It seemed to throw the hustler off guard. The red hair was tossed over one shoulder, eyes now more uncertain than before narrowed. A shrug.

'Let me see the pictures.'

'Hey Andrea! Good business over there?' Two of them, skirts so short you could almost tell their religion, leaned against a wall, taking in the scene. 'Don't let him get off for free unless he does the same for you, baby.' They cackled at their own joke.

Garibaldi glanced at them indifferently, returned his attention to the one they called Andrea. Why, he wondered vaguely, if you wanted a man would you want one done up to look like a woman? Each to his own, but it was something he had never quite understood.

'Sorry about that,' Andrea muttered, shuffling through the photographs.

'Forget about it. What's your name?'

Hesitation for a moment. 'Andr- Andrew. Andrew Meyer.'

'Okay, Andrew. Have you seen any of them?'

The young man looked at the faces carefully. 'Yes, I-I think so.'

Garibaldi stared at him for a moment.

'This one.' It was Vittoria's picture. Of course, thought Garibaldi, it would be.

'When did you see her?'

Andrew shrugged again. 'I'm not sure – a few nights ago, I think. She ran into some guy, he gave her a hard time, I told him to back off. You know how it goes.'

'And?'

'And? And nothing: that was it. She-' He bit his lip, suddenly looking impossibly young. It was a tragic, grotesque sight under all that make-up. 'She's one of them, isn't she? These are the girls that were murdered.'

Garibaldi nodded. 'Yeah.'

A shudder ran through the younger man; he pulled the flimsy bit of feathers and sequins tighter around his shoulders. 'I guessed she was new here. I should have- Shit. I should have looked out for her a bit.' The timbre of the voice lowered suddenly, roughening.

'Did you see her with anyone?'

'I, uh, I wasn't really looking, I- I was working.' The eyes dropped from Garibaldi's. He studied the floor for a moment. 'But... I dunno.'

'But what? Look, anything could help at this point. Tell me.'

'She went off. I told her to keep her head up.' A grim smile. 'Then... I don't even know if she was actually with him or just...' Another shrug.

'With who?'

'Some Minbari guy.'

Garibaldi stared. 'Minbari?'

'Yes, Minbari. Look, I wasn't really paying attention but I think I saw him say something to her.'

'Okay. Okay. What did he look like?'

The eyes were helpless. 'He just looked Minbari; I mean they all look-' He cut himself off, colour flaring across his cheeks. 'I didn't mean that. I mean, not like that. But from a distance and when you're not really looking...'

'Yeah, I get it.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Did you see which direction they went? Or might have gone?'

Andrew looked around slowly, the pointed. 'There. Towards the _Starlight Club_.' Another grim smile. 'Ironic name, huh?'

'I guess. Okay. Thanks for your time, Andrew, I appreciate it.'

Andrew handed him back the photos. 'Look, I'll ask around, okay? They won't talk to you but they'll talk to me. Someone might have seen something or know someone who knows someone. You know how it goes.'

'I know. And thank-you, that would be great.' He paused, studied the face for a moment. He was little more than a boy, really. When he wasn't playing at being a streetwalker there was an edge of refinement to his voice. 'Does your family know you're here?'

There was surprise and then a shadow fell across his face. 'Do you think if they cared I would be?'

It was Garibaldi who shrugged. 'I don't know. I'm not assuming anything but maybe you don't know either. Look after yourself. And be careful.'

'What, of the maniac?' The hustler's voice was back, the sudden laugh throaty. 'I'm not really his type, now, am I?'

'You never know. Good-bye, Andrew.'

ooOOoo

'That is how the situation stands at the moment. I am aware that the increased security may cause further delays but we are working to keep those to a minimum. So far the victims have been Human but there is always the outside chance that that could change. That's why we're telling you, all of you, now. Realistically, there probably won't be a threat to any of your people and I am asking you to co-operate with the station security, to work together to keep everyone as calm and as safe as possible.' And just for a change, Sheridan thought, for no-one to try to make political capital out of it. The chances of that, he had to admit, were remote. There was not one of this assembly who would pass the opportunity to gain ground over everyone else, no matter how petty or insignificant the matter.

Well, there was one who wouldn't. Delenn had spent much of the previous night in MedLab, watching over her Ranger. Her face now was controlled, thoughtful, and only a keen observer would have noticed the shadows beneath her eyes. They were from more than just concern for Yuki Ogawa. Now, like Sheridan, she watched the faces of the ambassadors, gauging their reactions, and waiting for the first to make their opinion heard.

'If you want my advice, Captain Sheridan, you should look to the Narns for this killer. That kind of barbarism is exactly the sort of thing that you would expect from them.'

Sheridan gritted his teeth. He had come to hate Londo Mollari's voice. The Centauri leaned back, the gold buttons on his garish waistcoat catching the light; his fingers drummed carelessly against the table.

'I am going to pretend that I didn't hear that, Ambassador,' he replied coldly. Sheridan had wondered before now just how much of what Londo said the man actually believed – or if it was something he felt obligated to say.

Londo returned a smile: his lips curved, his eyes were dead. 'Forgive me, Captain. I had forgotten how fond you are of them – that you would sacrifice all others to defend them.'

It was his most reasonable tone and it was the one that got to the captain more than Londo's vitriolic outpourings. He took a moment, steadying himself before he answered.

'At the moment, we have no idea who is responsible for this but we will find them. Whichever race they're from.' He met Londo's eyes. A tremor crossed the Centauri's face that Sheridan couldn't quite name. Not contempt, exactly. Distaste, perhaps, but Sheridan wasn't certain whether it was directed at him or at Londo himself. 'But we need to stand united for everyone's sake.'

'I agree with Captain Sheridan.' Delenn spoke for the first time. 'This is not the time for personal grievances.'

'Of course you agree with the captain, Delenn. You always do.' The last words were bitten off, malice edging Londo's smile.

Delenn stiffened slightly; she returned his gaze levelly. 'Perhaps. However, at least I do not suffer from the handicap of not being able to look at a situation objectively. The crimes that have been committed against these women are beyond understanding; the last thing that we should be doing is attempting to lay the blame with anyone before we know the truth.'

It was an unpleasant silence; Sheridan could hear the restless movements across the room as councillors shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

'I think that we should leave it there. Thank-you all for coming; this meeting is adjourned.' Sheridan watched them leave with relief; Londo was still smiling to himself. The captain leaned his elbows heavily on the table. 'What the hell is his problem? Does anything ever actually penetrate his head?'

Ivanova smiled wryly. 'Maybe that hair forms a defensive barrier.'

'Yeah, maybe.' Sheridan sat back again. 'You know, almost from the day I got here Londo Mollari has been nothing but a pain in the butt, but lately...' He sighed, shaking it off.

'Vir, I think, believes that Londo is, as you would say, his own worst enemy.'

Sheridan glanced at Delenn, his face relaxing. 'Worst? I wouldn't be too sure about that – G'Kar springs to mind.'

Delenn inclined her head, a faint smile. 'Perhaps. I understand that Mr Garibaldi feels some sympathy for him.'

Ivanova pushed her chair back, standing. 'He would – one darkened mind in tune with another.'

It was the first time Susan had seen Sheridan smile that day. 'Twenty credits says you wouldn't say that to his face.'

Ivanova laughed. 'No bet. I better head back to C&C. Ambassador.' She nodded to Delenn.

Her rhythmic footsteps faded; Sheridan stood, paced the floor and Delenn watched him. He always had the air of contained energy, something restless beneath that cheerful, charming surface. Now he seemed ... caged. Like her, he had spent his childhood in the free air; Delenn wondered if he missed it as much as she did. He stopped, finally, leaning against one of the empty seats and when he spoke his words seemed simply voiced aloud rather than addressed to her.

'How can someone enjoy watching else somebody else suffer? Not just enjoy it - take pleasure in it. Torture as ... fun, as entertainment. How do you even begin to understand something like that?'

Delenn studied her hands clasped loosely in front of her. 'If you were able to understand it, I think that it would mean that there was something wrong with you. Understanding would mean that you had become like them. I can only think that those who inflict such pain must be in pain themselves. They carry with them a terrible emptiness – perhaps seeing the suffering of others is the only way that they can feel anything.'

'You mean like Sebastian.'

She caught her breath. His face was impassive.

'Yes. Like him. Yet, for all that I feared him and what he was capable of doing, I pitied him more.'

'I bet he loved that.' He was still on the other side of the room but his eyes were on her; caught in his gaze she was helpless. 'You know, we've never really talked about what happened.'

Delenn lifted her chin, her back straight. 'We both said many things in that chamber. I did not think that we needed to talk about it further.'

It was there again, that look; the one that she caught glimpses of in secret and was here, now, openly and she could return it.

'No, maybe we don't.' He crossed back to the table, took his seat again. 'But in four hundred years, nothing changes. We can conquer other worlds, we can build great space stations, but we still can't cure the sickness in people's minds.'

Someone – either Susan or Garibaldi, she was certain – had once told her that a cynic was simply a frustrated idealist. John Sheridan was still an idealist, intact; and given all that he had seen she sometimes wondered how he had managed it.

'But as long as we realise that it is a sickness,' she told him, 'we can continue to fight it. Perhaps, one day, we will be able to change it.'

It was an involuntary movement, he told himself, his hand covering hers. That was a lie. He had needed that contact, needed to feel her closer than simply sitting at a respectable distance in this supposedly respectable place. He ran his thumb across the back of her hand; her skin was smooth and soft and warm. And her eyes held his and it would be so easy to lose himself there.

When the sharp chime of his link sounded neither of them moved; only when that insistent tone repeated did Sheridan remove his hand from hers and she was aware of a lack of warmth that followed that withdrawal. Coldness after that flare of heat.

'Sheridan, go.'

'It's Franklin here. You wanted to know when Ms Ogawa had regained consciousness. Well, she's awake.'

'Can she talk?'

'Oh, she can talk. And how.'

'Okay, thanks. I'll be right down.' Sheridan paused for a moment, found Delenn's face again. 'I guess you'll want to be in on this from the start?'

She smiled slightly. 'I believe that I am already "in on this".' She paused. 'Your people have the most interesting turns of phrase.'

'It makes up for our other shortcomings.'

They both stood, Sheridan stepping to one side so she passed through the door before him. She turned slightly, their eyes meeting, then continued. And they both carried that final faint echo with them through the corridors.

ooOOoo

There was always something happening on Babylon 5 – alliances and enemies made with equal frequency; conspiracy was bonded to the air. Most of it passed Stephen Franklin by – he had too many of his own worries to spend too much time on those of others. Despite this, he noticed a lot more than people realised; he learnt information sometimes purely because people were more unguarded in his presence, assuming that he was too wrapped up in his work to notice what was going on.

He was vaguely aware that there was something brewing among the command staff, he simply had not had the time to think on it; he would have to have been living under a rock not to notice that there was something very strange about the attention to Yuki Ogawa.

Not from Garibaldi – that was his job; not even the captain – it was his station, after all. But Ambassador Delenn...

Franklin watched the three of them hovering over the girl's bed. Sheridan, Garibaldi, Delenn. It was more than just the attack on this young woman. The brooch she had worn, the two figures – Franklin could have sworn that one of them was Minbari. He scrubbed at his face. It was so hard to focus some days. Sleep, that was all he needed; just one good night's sleep and everything would start making more sense.

'Doctor, we need you in exam room two.' There was an edge of panic in the voice.

Stephen closed his eyes for a moment. 'I'll be right there.' He turned away from the observation window.

ooOOoo

Propped up against the pillows, her face still ashen, Yuki Ogawa looked about as tough as a china doll. The fingers of her strapped arm moved feebly; but her eyes, bright and alert, betrayed intelligence and insatiable curiosity.

'I was just passing through here,' she sounded almost apologetic, 'I wasn't even collecting or passing on information, it was just a stop-over.'

'Why were you in Downbelow?'

She tried to shrug and winced; Garibaldi sucked in a breath in sympathy. 'The rent is cheap. People don't ask a lot of questions and you can hear all sorts of things – useful things, sometimes. And I- I like the people. They're friendly.'

Sheridan raised an eyebrow, amused. 'That's a new one.'

'Well, some of them can be.' A shadow passed over her face. 'I still can't believe it; I was so stupid; I was off my guard and after all my training-' Yuki sat forward slightly, suppressed a cry at the sudden pain.

Delenn murmured something, placed a hand against the girl's undamaged shoulder, made her lie back.

'You shouldn't be so hard on yourself.' Sheridan looked down at her. 'You got away, that's all that matters.'

Yuki smiled slightly, colour starting to creep back into her cheeks.

'Look, just take your time; tell us what happened.'

She held a breath for a moment, released it slowly. 'I'd met with some of the others, we had a drink in one of the bars.' She glanced at Delenn. 'One of the decent ones. Sort of decent, anyway.'

There was a betraying twitch at the corners of Delenn's mouth.

The brief gleam in Yuki's eyes faded again. 'Anyway. He must have been watching me, following me all along, because as soon as I turned into a side corridor he was on me.' She paused, reliving the events. 'It was deserted, one of those places that has all the ducts running through; I didn't even hear him coming. Then my arm was grabbed, he got it in a lock behind my back, held a knife to my throat. Then… I'm sorry, it's still all a bit hazy.' She continued slowly, voice tight with control; her eyes were focused. Hard. 'He let go. He let go of my arm and I think he took something out of a pocket. I don't even really remember how I got out of that hold. I tried to break it, I think, but he was really strong.' One hand moved. 'I reached back, I went for his eyes.'

That had thrown him off balance, she remembered. Just long enough for her to find the denn'bok hidden in the folds of her clothes. He hadn't expected her to fight back; he certainly had not been expecting a weapon like that. She had delivered a backwards blow with enough power to get him off her, but not before he had slashed her shoulder. He had sworn at her in Lenn'ah-

Delenn started visibly. 'Lenn'ah?'

'Yes.' Yuki looked at them in confusion. 'He was Minbari. Didn't I tell you that?'

'No,' Sheridan replied. 'No, you didn't.'

'Are you sure he was Minbari?'

She looked at Garibaldi almost pityingly. 'It's not exactly something I'd get wrong, is it?'

'No, I, uh, I guess not.' Like Sheridan, he glanced at Delenn. She was rigid. 'Okay, then what?'

He had come at her again. A brief, desperate struggle. With one arm all but useless, dripping blood, she was overwhelmed by his greater strength and weight. He had slammed her head against the floor, it should have left her stunned; she had held onto the pike and when the syringe nicked her neck she had lashed out, fighting him off. Yes, he was strong but she was faster, even then. And she had fought hard, heard the satisfying splintering of bone when she caught him across the ribs. In the end he was the one who had run off. With her mind already clouding, the only clear thought she had had was to find Sheridan or Delenn; Yuki didn't know where to find the captain, she had headed for Green Sector. Whatever her assailant had stuck her with worked fast – the whole world was dancing, voices gibbering, faces peering at her out of the walls. She had almost made it before the drug and blood loss had finally won.

Yuki closed her eyes, sank further into the pillows. In that moment she looked like a child; when she opened her eyes again they were too old. 'Was that all right?'

'It was fine.' Sheridan sounded gruffer than he had intended, anger tight in his chest.

Delenn's fingers curled around Yuki's hand, her touch warm and steady. The young Ranger looked between her and Sheridan, her features blurring, threatening to break.

'I was so scared.'

'I know. But it is over now; and no-one will be able to hurt you here.'

Sheridan touched her briefly on the arm, gently. 'We'll find him, Yuki. He won't hurt anyone else, either.'

Her breath was deeper, calmer. 'I know that. I just wish-' She broke off in a sudden yawn. 'I just wish I'd bashed his head in while I was at it.'

'That is not quite the spirit behind your training,' Delenn reminded her; but her lips twitched slightly again.

'I suppose not.' She yawned again. 'Maybe Entil'zhashould rethink that part of the programme.'

The idea seemed to amuse Delenn: she suppressed another smile.

Yuki's eyes suddenly widened again. 'My denn'bok. Where is- Is it with my things?'

Sheridan and Garibaldi exchanged questioning looks.

'I didn't see any kind of weapon - just her ID, that was it.'

This, more than anything, seemed to deflate her. 'I must have left it there. Shit.'

'It will be found,' Delenn told her.

'I think we should probably let you get some rest.' Sheridan looked at Garibaldi. 'Unless there's anything you want to ask?'

Garibaldi had remained a few paces further back throughout; and apart from a few comments had remained silent, simply listening, watching. The young woman had relaxed immediately she had seen Delenn, accepting her authority. And Sheridan's, he had to admit, in a way that had nothing to do with his EarthForce rank or Babylon 5. Little by little the captain was becoming part of something else; and it was obvious that wherever this thing would take all of them, Delenn would also be leading them there.

Garibaldi took a few steps forward, smiled at Yuki from the foot of the bed. 'Just two questions. First, Did he say anything to you during this? Anything at all?'

'I... I don't think so. He wasn't really there to make conversation.' Her words were beginning to slur.

'Okay. Last one: would you be able to describe him or recognise him again?'

'Maybe, I-I'm not sure. It was so dark and I never really got a good look, it was just sort of impressions. General height, build – that's about it. I'm sorry.'

'Don't be sorry. Look, I might put you with one of our artists when you're feeling more up to it, see if we can shake anything loose.'

Yuki nodded; it looked like more than she was capable of. Delenn placed her hand on her forehead, murmured something in Adronato that made the girl smile then followed the two men out of MedLab. When the three were outside again they stood, a conspicuous huddle in the corridor.

'Minbari?' Sheridan was incredulous.

Garibaldi thrust his hands in his pockets. 'Actually, that matches something I was told in Downbelow.'

'Oh?' Sheridan eyed him. 'You actually got someone there to talk to you?'

'I have my methods.'

'Damn, I am impressed. So, what was this information?'

'Not much – just that the last girl, Vittoria, was seen talking to a Minbari.' Garibaldi shrugged. 'To be honest, I thought that he was either mistaken or it was just a coincidence, irrelevant.'

'Could this ... informant ... give a description?'

Garibaldi shot Delenn an apologetic look. 'He looked Minbari, apparently.'

'Great.'

Garibaldi glanced around uneasily. 'Not that this isn't cosy but I think we should move this somewhere less public.'

They reached Sheridan's office in silence; even when seated close together on the sofa and chairs, they still kept their voices low. It was a way of life now, Sheridan reflected.

'If you want my opinion - and to be honest, I'm going to give it to you anyway - I just can't see the Minbari, Warrior Caste or any other type, being responsible for something like this. I mean, if the Minbari were going to attack Humans, wouldn't a whole clan be involved?' Garibaldi looked at Delenn. 'No offence.'

'I am not offended,' she replied. 'But you are correct. Acts such as these would bring dishonour to a clan, to the caste, to our entire race. I do not understand it.'

'I agree. And even if a Minbari were to attack a Human,' Sheridan observed, 'it would be with a political motivation – trying to provoke a retaliation.'

'I believe that that lesson has been learnt,' Delenn responded.

Sheridan inclined his head. 'Let's hope. But that still leaves us with the problem that Yuki Ogawa was attacked by a Warrior Caste Minbari; as she said, it's not something that she's likely to make a mistake on. So. Was that an unrelated attack?'

Garibaldi blew out a breath, leaned back. 'Maybe not. Just bear with me on this: I'm no expert on serial killers, but sometimes they work in pairs, it's like a partnership. Usually one of them does the actual killing, the other is more dependent – emotionally, psychologically, whatever – they can act as the lure to attract the victims. Of course, it's hard to imagine a Minbari Warrior taking that kind of risk for somebody who's not one of his own.'

'That somebody must have quite a hold over him. Fear, maybe?' Sheridan looked between them. 'Fear of whoever is actually doing this? Maybe he thinks if he doesn't go along with it he'll be the next victim. Delenn, would you know if there are any Minbari living in Downbelow and who they are?'

She hesitated for a moment, choosing her words. 'There are some, I know, but... It is difficult. We do not have the same problem with the homeless as you do. Those of our people who have suffered such misfortune are immediately cared for by the rest of their clan.'

'So, if there were any Minbari who were homeless on Babylon Five they would be looked after by somebody else.'

'Yes. And if there is no-one of their clan here, the responsibility would fall to others of their caste or myself. Those who remain as lurkers are those who do not wish for help; usually they have ostracised themselves from their clan.' She paused. 'They tend to be those who were prisoners during the war and have been unable to re-integrate themselves back into our society.'

At some point it always came back to the war, Garibaldi thought. One of those things that no-one was ever able to leave behind.

'If Michael is right - and I think he probably is – we've got a better chance of finding the killer if we can find Yuki's attacker.'

'I will contact all of the Rangers who are here at the moment, they should be able to discover the names of any Minbari living in Downbelow; they will wish to help, especially now as one of their own has been attacked.'

'Hm.' Garibaldi nodded thoughtfully. 'I think I'll do a little digging, see if there've been any similar cases anywhere else.'

'You believe that this has happened before?'

'As far I can see there's been no escalation, no learning curve. These guys usually start with lesser crimes – arson, assault, rape – they work their way up. All four victims were treated in exactly the same way, at the same level. Yeah, I think he's probably done this a lot of times before. And now we've got him.'

'I see.' Delenn's voice sounded hollow.

'And we'll be the ones to stop him, I can promise you that.'

Her smile was fleeting, forced. Delenn was an idealist; she preferred to believe in the good than assume the worst. This idealism did not mean that she was blind to reality – she knew darkness, was aware of its lure far more than others would realise. These men spoke so calmly of atrocities that were beyond any reasonable being's ability to comprehend; it was only in the depths of their eyes that she could see the same horror that she felt.

'That seems to be all we can do for now; thank-you both.' Sheridan stood. 'Michael, obviously the security details are up to you, but I want to be kept informed of any and all developments.'

'Sure.' He nodded to Delenn. She barely noticed, didn't see him leave, her eyes still focused on something that no-one else could see.

'Are you all right?'

She looked up, shivered. 'Yes. Yes, I am fine.' Sheridan was watching her carefully. 'I do find this situation distressing.'

He sat down again, closer to her. 'I wish I could say that this sort of thing doesn't happen very often; it happens far too much for my liking.'

'Do you think that Mr Garibaldi is correct? That you will be able to find this man, to stop him?'

There was a hint of a smile. 'I think that Michael doesn't believe in making promises that he can't keep, one way or another. It makes him a great friend; it also makes him the kind of guy you wouldn't want as your enemy.'

The tension had left her face, the set of her shoulders lowering. 'He is very determined. That is the correct word?'

'It's not the one I would have chosen, but it'll do.' He was still watching her. 'At least you're smiling again.'

'As are you.'

He grinned at her. 'Looks like we have a good effect on each other.'

Her smile widened in response. That was, she thought, a lovely idea. The tension in the air, in her body, had eased and her thoughts moved to all the other things she had to get through. Delenn sighed. 'I should go.'

'Busy day?'

'Oh... There are trade negotiations, territorial disputes...'

'Sounds like you find those meetings as tedious as I do.'

'Tedious?'

'Yeah. Tedious. Uh, it means-'

'I know what it means;' her eyes gleamed, 'it is just not the word that I would have chosen.'

Sheridan laughed outright. They parted, each attempting to conceal their reluctance and neither succeeding as well as they would have liked. After Delenn had gone, Sheridan still felt more buoyant than he had earlier; as he stared out of the window, across the station, the sense of bleakness began to settle again. It was a tranquil view from up there: great expanses of green punctuating the residential blocks and official complexes; a few thousand dots milling about that represented only a fraction of the station's residents. And somewhere there was someone who didn't care how many of those tiny dots he took out of existence. His link sounded and he took a moment, trying to shake off the weight of an unutterable weariness.

'Sheridan. Go.'


	5. Chapter 5

Garibaldi had read through security logs until he was nearly cross-eyed, was more than grateful when Ivanova put her head around the door and asked for an update. He gave her Yuki's story almost verbatim, leaving out only the parts he really had to. She accepted the new details with an apparent lack of emotion, leaning against the wall, her arms folded.

'A Human with a Minbari accomplice. I wouldn't think that they'd be too hard to spot in Downbelow.'

'You know what it's like there: no-one ever sees anything.'

'I hear that.' She jerked her head at the computer. 'Have you turned up any cross-references yet?'

'No. It will still be a few hours.' He ran a hand over his head, scratched the back of his neck, stared up at her. 'I hate this. I hate just sitting here waiting for the next one. I'm the kind of guy who likes to know who the bad guy is, go find him and then take him down. Simple, clean, everybody knows where they stand. But with this... I don't know what to do. Even if we took a DNA sample from every Human male on the station, we have nothing to match it to. And that's assuming that we're on the right track and this guy _is_ Human. We know he has a type: slim, dark, young. Veronica Ryan was thirty-four, she was the oldest. Luisa was twenty-four; Tara was thirty-two; Vittoria was seventeen – seventeen, Susan, she was a child. And Yuki Ogawa is twenty-nine. So what? We put every brunette under forty into protective custody? Because if I thought it would make a difference, I might just do it. Hell, we can't even be sure if this son of a bitch is still on the station; he could have hopped on a transport by now.' He was silent for a moment. 'Like I said, I don't know what to do and it's driving me crazy.'

'I-' Susan compressed her lips, her chin lowering to her chest before she continued. She looked up. 'I wish I knew what to do or what to say. I think we all feel pretty helpless right now.'

'Yeah, I know.'

She watched him keenly. 'Look, if you're around when I get off duty ... maybe we could get a drink? I'll buy you a water.'

He gave her a lopsided smile. 'You know the way to a man's heart.' When she reached the door he spoke again. 'You know, you didn't ask the obvious question.'

'What question?'

'What was Yuki Ogawa doing near Green Sector?' She looked surprised. His eyes wandered over her face; he shrugged slightly. 'Hell, maybe it wasn't that obvious.'

Susan was silent for a moment. 'If it will keep you happy: what was she doing near Green Sector?'

Garibaldi put his feet up on the console, hands behind his head, eyes narrowed. 'I've no idea. She was drugged, hallucinating, probably didn't know where she was going.'

Susan let out a breath of laughter. 'You are a perverse man, Garibaldi.'

'So they tell me. See you at _Earheart's_ around six?'

'Make it six-thirty and you've got a deal.' Susan paused in the doorway. 'By the way, I did think that you meant the other obvious question.' Garibaldi stared at her blankly. 'Why was Delenn in MedLab with you?'

The door closed behind her and Garibaldi swore under his breath.

ooOOoo

Elizabeth pressed the chime again and waited. Finally, she heard a peremptory voice telling her to enter. The door opened and her brother stared at her blankly. It looked almost like surprise. Her bright smile faded.

'We're going out for dinner, remember?'

He looked at her like he had forgotten she was even there. John shook himself.

'I'm sorry, Liz; Look, if you just give me ten minutes I'll be right with you. Sit down, have a drink…' He vanished into the bedroom.

Elizabeth did not sit down, didn't have a drink – she amused herself by investigating the small quarters that John now called home. There was not one single object that she recognised; it may as well have been a stranger's room. Everything was neat, organised, precisely arranged. She smiled when she remembered the bomb-site that had passed for his room back at the family home. When the floor served double-duty as his closet and you couldn't see a clear surface beneath the endless papers, books, model-kits... She had always been the tidy one, not him. Before the Academy, John had always given the impression that he'd be quite happy living in a rubbish tip. But that was the military training, Elizabeth thought; all the years of living in station quarters and starships.

He would never come home, she realised. It was a strange thought. A cold one. He had been away for the best part of twenty years; they had barely seen each other in the past five but she had always felt close to him. She had always known that this was his life but, after all that time, the reality was suddenly very clear. John would never live on Earth, not on any of its colonies, never again.

The doors rolled back, unnaturally loud in the silence, and she started.

'Are you okay?'

She smiled in response to his concern. 'Yeah, I'm fine. Shall we go?'

The _Fresh Air_ was full and lively. Sheridan tried to absorb the atmosphere, will himself into something approaching cheerful. He could feel Elizabeth's eyes on him and wished that his sister had been born with the gift of being oblivious. But she had always been perceptive and that was not something that had changed.

She watched him, saw his distraction, noticed the tell-tale lines of tension around his mouth that would have gone unnoticed by most people.

'What's wrong?'

He looked at her, smiled apologetically; he played with his glass, set it down on the table. 'I'm sorry; I guess I'm not very good company tonight.' He hesitated. 'We're having some trouble on the station and...'

'And it's bad?'

Up here, with the discreet waiters, the elegant furnishings, the lighting and the music all pitched to make a perfect evening, it was difficult to imagine that only a few levels away there was abject horror.

'Yes, it's about as bad as you can get.' John hesitated; Elizabeth watched him calmly and he braced himself, knowing the look that would creep into her eyes. He'd been seeing that look all day, knew he had it himself. 'There have been four women killed; a fifth was assaulted but she got away, she's in MedLab.'

'You mean a serial killer.'

'Yes.'

There it was, he thought; there was the look. That horrified fascination.

'They were all in Downbelow. I- Just promise me you won't go down there, Liz.'

She nodded, took a mouthful of her wine and didn't notice the taste of it. Muted conversations from other tables, the clatter of plates and glasses, the rushed footsteps of waiters filtered through but did not really register.

'I promise.' Elizabeth stared at him. 'That isn't everything, is it?'

He started. 'What? Isn't that enough?'

'Johnny, you look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. We always used to talk – remember? Before...'

'Before Anna died.' It was different now, the way he said it. 'I remember.'

'I miss that.'

'So do I.' So many things, so many secrets. He had never been a secretive person by nature – he had always preferred to confront things head on, not scurry around in the dark. Too much of that and you became too much like _them_ – that unidentifiable 'them' who always seemed to pull all the strings and never have to answer for it. Sheridan met her eyes. 'There are things I can't tell you about. Not because I don't want to-' He stopped. 'Okay, that's not entirely true. I'm your big brother, I still get to want to protect you from stuff. God knows you'll probably end up hearing about most of it eventually, but not now. I can't. I don't expect you to understand, but-'

'Okay.'

'What?'

'I said "okay." And stop saying "what?" You can't tell me. Fine. I don't like it; I wish it were different, but that's just the way it is and I have to accept it, I guess.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be sorry.' Elizabeth drank more of her wine. 'You're in the military, I get it. And in case you've forgotten, I'm also the daughter of a diplomat – I'm used to secrets. And I hear a lot of them, I'm good at keeping them, it's something my patients expect.' She paused. 'Just be careful. Please?'

'What makes you think I need to be careful?'

'Because I know what you're like.'

He covered her hand, his face warmed by affection. 'I'll be careful.'

'Good.' She leaned back as the waiter placed their starter down, gazed appreciatively at her plate. 'How about we talk about something cheerful?'

'Please.'

'I'm making it my mission to take you out of yourself.' She fumbled for a moment with her chopsticks. 'Tell me about Delenn.'

He was still for a moment, then said smoothly, 'What about her?'

Elizabeth shrugged. 'Anything. Tell me about you and her.'

'There is no me and her.'

'Oh? Have you told her that?'

His look was wordless reproach.

'That didn't work when we were kids, it still doesn't work now.' She selected another mouthful. 'The food here is great, by the way.'

'Glad you like it; I asked them to put strychnine in yours.'

She chewed, eyes glinting. A few moments and she resumed her attack. 'So? Are you going to tell me?'

Sheridan leaned back. 'There's nothing to tell. Delenn- I-' He sighed. Elizabeth's face was impassive and he knew that this wasn't something she was going to abandon anytime soon. 'She's important to me.'

'And you seem to be important to her.' All humour vanished from her face. 'It's a good thing. I'm happy for you, I really am. You need this and- And she seems like a really lovely person.'

His face had softened. 'She is. I just... We've been through a lot lately and I don't want to risk ruining something by rushing into it, you know?'

'Hm. You've known each other about what? a year now?'

'Yeah, since the last time you were here.'

'Uh-huh.' She nodded, chased something around her plate. 'A year. I can see how you'd really want to slow things down.'

He was reproachful again.

'Have you talked to her about any of this?'

'No.' He impaled a piece of fish, examined it. 'To be honest, I don't know how she'd take it. Sometimes I think I do and then... Maybe I'm just reading her wrong, I don't know.'

'Right.' She swallowed her last mouthful. 'Here's an idea: try. Have a conversation with her. Give the woman a chance.'

He smiled slightly. 'I might just do that.'

'Or you could find out what the Minbari equivalent of pulling her hair and running away is, and try that.'

Sheridan eyed her critically. 'You always have to go too far, don't you?'

Her smile was unrepentant. 'At least I don't-' She stopped as his link sounded.

'Captain,' Garibaldi's voice was urgent, 'I'm in Grey Eleven. There's been a development; you better come down.'

Sheridan stiffened and she watched in fascination as his face changed subtly. One moment he was her brother, the good-natured protector who had lived in the room next to hers when they were growing up; the next there was this other man, the one with the sharp movements and set jaw.

'I'm on my way.' He looked up at her apologetically. 'Liz…'

'It's okay.' She forced herself to smile, tried to hide from him the disappointment. 'I'll finish dinner and see you later.'

John squeezed her hand gratefully. His rapid exit from the restaurant drew the attention of the other diners; Elizabeth lowered her head, ignored the curious stares.

ooOOoo

'You were right about our Minbari friend being the next victim.'

Garibaldi's words of greeting left him feeling hollow: that wasn't helped by the faces of the security officers. Pale, grim. They saw living nightmares everyday but if even they were shaken he knew that whatever had happened was far worse than the possibilities he had imagined. Garibaldi guided him into a small chamber that seemed to consist entirely of steam, dripping water and machinery. The smell was the first thing he was aware of, even before they entered. Rank, rich, with a metallic edge. His stomach roiled in protest but they kept moving forward. The walls dripped with condensation – it rolled down, like the metal was sweating, collecting on the floor. And there were puddles in the middle. They seemed darker, more viscous and above them was a misshapen something suspended from the ceiling. Even with the lights set up by the forensic teams, it was still gloomy and it took Sheridan a few moments before he could make out what it was he was looking at.

'I wasn't ready for this either,' Garibaldi stated.

For a moment there were no words, no sound, everything seemed to have frozen. A wave of nausea and he breathed deeply to fight it down. And there was the smell again. Decay, he realised now, made worse by the heat. And the metallic smell was the blood pooled on the floor and the thing hung by its ankles-

Sheridan looked away for a moment.

'He was Minbari?' His voice sounded like a stranger's.

'Yes.'

The confirmation was necessary. Even under the glare of the arc lights, details picked out against the darkness, it was hard to tell immediately what race the victim had been. The headbone had been hacked off; most of the skull at the back of the head had been smashed, gouged out. What remained was a mixture of thick blood, interspersed with flashes of scarlet and splintered bone coated in a grey, gelatinous membrane. Beneath it the exposed brain looked painfully delicate. The hands had been tied behind the back, livid bruises around the wrists where the rope had bitten into the flesh. But the worst of it was the face. A rag had been stuffed into the mouth to muffle the screams and the eyes were still wide open. Even though lifeless, they retained the final echo of appalling physical agony. The smell of death was palpable: the stench of blood and faecal matter intensified by the heat. Sheridan felt himself gagging, bile rising in his throat. He swallowed hard, teeth clamped together. Garibaldi looked at him sympathetically; his own face still looked drawn.

'How… Who found him?'

They fell into the rhythm of formality. Something familiar, normal. Safe.

'Maintenance guy. The doc had to give him a sedative, which is hardly surprising. I feel a little hysterical myself.'

Sheridan turned and walked out – even the stifling air in the corridor tasted clean after that. Garibaldi followed him and in the harsh overhead lighting Sheridan could see the sheen of perspiration on his face.

'My guess is it was a punishment for letting Yuki Ogawa get away. This guy doesn't believe in taking prisoners.'

'No. I want this guy, Michael. I want him found and stopped. This thing ends here.'

Garibaldi nodded. 'At least we know one thing for sure.'

'Which is?'

'He's still here.'

'You thought he might have left?'

He shrugged. 'It was possible. We're a port, that's what we do. It's not like we know who we're looking for.'

'No.' The lines of his face were set. 'You know, I'm seriously thinking about putting a hold on all traffic out of here.'

Garibaldi thrust his hands in his pockets. 'That would make a lot of people pretty unhappy.'

'Well, they'll just have to deal with it.'

'You're not kidding, are you?' Sheridan stared at him. 'Okay, you're not. Look, before we go that far-'

Zack reached the two men; he addressed them without quite meeting their eyes. When he held out a hand it was shaking.

'We found this on the body, Chief. Captain.' He pressed a packet into Garibaldi's hand, turned away.

Two items, both in sealed plastic evidence bags. Garibaldi examined them under the light. 'It's the identicard. And a note addressed to you.'

Sheridan took the plastic-wrapped paper, frowned as he read it, passed it back wordlessly.

' "It's your move, Captain, make it a good one." Great.' Garibaldi blew out a breath. 'You've got a psychopath as a fan. This just gets better and better.' Sheridan still hadn't moved. 'John?'

Sheridan looked up. 'At least it answers one question: he's planning on sticking around for a while.'

'Lucky us. We could do with some extra patrols. To be honest we could do with extra personnel, but we'll just have to double-up. It will mean some serious overtime.'

'Fine, take whatever you need. Draft in the pilots if you have to. He's somewhere on this station and he can't hide forever. I'm not going to play his games.'

Garibaldi turned the bags over in his hands. 'I'll make a copy of the ID for Delenn; she should be able to find out more about that poor bastard in there than we ever could. Which reminds me - Ivanova is a little curious about why Delenn was with us when we interviewed Ms Ogawa. And she won't be the only one.'

Sheridan's lips compressed momentarily. 'Let's worry about that tomorrow, shall we?'

They left Grey 11 as the forensic team removed the body to MedLab; Franklin would perform the post-mortem in the next few hours. Sheridan walked back to Blue Sector with Garibaldi, the quiet corridors almost surreal in their normality. The captain leaned against the corner of a desk, his hands gripping the edge.

'You know, our new friend's sudden interest in me might provide us with an advantage.'

Garibaldi quirked an eyebrow at him. 'Okay, I'll bite.' He sat back.

'He's made contact; he's made it more personal. It's a break in his method so far. Now, maybe that can give us an edge. He might reveal more about himself than he means to without even realising it.'

'I thought you weren't playing the game.'

'I'm not. But if he wants to send me a few notes, that's fine. I'll put up with anything to bring him down. Is that ready?'

'Yeah.' Garibaldi leaned across, pulled out the data crystal. 'I can take it to Delenn now if you don't want it to wait 'til morning.'

Sheridan hesitated. 'No, no, it's okay. I'll take it.'

Garibaldi pulled back slowly, watched him, frowned slightly. 'Are you sure?'

'I'm sure.' He took the crystal. 'Goodnight, Michael.'

'Yeah, 'night.' The door swung to; Garibaldi's fingers drummed against the console and he said to no-one in particular, 'Okay.'

Sheridan started on the longer route to the ambassadorial wing, cutting through the gardens. In the middle of all that greenery you could almost fool yourself into believing that you really were in the fresh, clear air. Almost. Sheridan stopped, tilted his head back and took a breath. He wasn't fooling anyone. A young Centauri couple walked slowly around one of the fountains, heading for the maze. The girl had her head pillowed on her lover's shoulder and they were both gently smiling. John watched them for a moment, turned, re-traced some of his steps and took a tube directly to Green Sector.

Even then, he still hesitated outside her door for a few moments, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket before he pressed the chime. Lennier's bland tone answered him and after a pause the door opened. The young aide was always impassive, but Sheridan saw the fleeting surprise in Lennier's eyes when he let him in. There were files and reports piled neatly on the low table, one still lying open: they had evidently been finishing off the day's work and preparing for the next and he suddenly realised just how late it was. The lighting had been turned down and Delenn's crystals glowed softly.

'Delenn will only be a moment,' Lennier stated. 'She asked me to offer you refreshment.'

'Oh. That's- No, thank you.'

'It is no trouble.'

'Really, I'm fine; thanks.'

They stood stiffly, Lennier fidgeting awkwardly at his side. They were seconds that seemed stretched into hours until Delenn emerged from the adjoining room; she looked immediately at Sheridan, her eyes darkening when she saw his face.

'I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, Delenn, but I wanted to let you know what has happened. Security got a call a few hours ago from a maintenance worker in Grey Sector; he'd found a body down there. It's the Minbari Warrior who attacked Yuki. He was murdered.'

'I see.' There was a tremor in the hollow at the base of her throat. 'Are you quite sure it is...'

He nodded. 'We're pretty certain. There was a note.'

Her head tilted. 'A note?'

'Yes.'

For a moment Delenn's lips thinned to a hard line and her eyes could read too much in his. He broke the gaze for a moment, looked back again. Something in her had withdrawn and her expression was sympathetic and closed.

'Is there something that you need me to do?'

'Yes; we found his identicard.' He pulled the data crystal from his pocket; they both took a few steps forward as she reached for it. 'We don't know if it's his real name or an alias - we're hoping for the former. If there is anything you can find out about him – who he was, where he came from - it might help us understand how he got involved in all of this and with whoever it was who killed him.'

Delenn held the crystal between her fingers. 'I understand. It would help if we had a-a DNA sample... We would be able to provide you with the correct identification.'

'I'll talk to Stephen; he can release the DNA results to you once the post-mortem exam is complete.'

'Thank-you. Until then I will try to trace the name.' Her hand closed around the crystal. 'If there is any family that can be found they might be able to help us.

'I will undertake to gather the information, Delenn, if I may.' Lennier spoke for the first time, his voice a softly inserted counterpoint to the rhythm of their conversation. They both looked at him.

'Thank-you, Lennier.'

He took the crystal from her. 'I will begin immediately.' Lennier bowed to them both, his face its usual mask. At the door he glanced back at the captain and when the other man still made no move, he continued. The door closed behind him.

They were alone in silence for a moment.

'You look tired,' Delenn said, 'you should try to get some sleep.'

Sheridan shook his head. 'I can't. The post-mortem will be in a few hours and I want to be there.'

'So soon?' She looked surprised.

'Stephen wants to do it as soon as possible, to get us an early lead. If he can.'

'I should be there.'

'No, absolutely not.' He ignored her objections, carried on talking. 'What happened to that guy was not pretty. It was brutal. And by the time Stephen and his team are done with him it will probably look a whole lot worse. It isn't something for you to see … or Lennier, either. Neither of you are going anywhere near MedLab while the post-mortem is going on.'

She was still, her chin raised. 'I have seen death before, John.'

'I know. I know you have.' Unconsciously, his hands moved to rest lightly on her shoulders. 'But this- This isn't just death.'

There was a hardness in his face she had never seen before. 'I see. I will follow your request.'

A moment, then he released her, dropped onto the sofa and glared at a crystal structure on the table. Delenn observed him in silence for a few moments then seated herself next to him.

'What else is wrong?'

It was the second time that night that someone had asked him that, he reflected and then swore inwardly. Liz. Damn. It was also the second time that he had forgotten about her. He should have stopped by to see her, at the very least, after having abandoned her so spectacularly- Too late now: she had never been much of a night-owl. Tomorrow. He'd leave a message for her to receive when she got up.

He turned his attention back to Delenn.

'You said that a note was found with the body, that it was left for you.' She spoke calmly.

Sheridan examined her. 'You're not a secret telepath are you?'

Delenn smiled. 'No. But that was a troubling revelation; I imagine that you, also, would find it so.'

'I do.' He scrubbed at his face, paused for a moment then continued. 'Our killer seems to have decided that he and I are playing a high-stakes game, only no one told me about it first. I hate people who prey on the weak, people who play these sick games and then expect everyone else to play along with them; I hate secrets and scurrying around in dark places and I hate being made to feel so Goddamn useless.' He took a deep breath and some of the tension seemed to leave him.

Delenn was silent, gazing into the middle distance as though trying to remember something. She had realised, early on in their acquaintance, that Sheridan was a problem-solver, a care-giver, at heart. Confronted with a dilemma, he would set about to resolve it; seeing an injustice, he would do anything to right it. They were admirable qualities and they made the people around him strive for something better even if they believed only in him and not his cause. Helplessness was not something that he could easily accept in himself and enforced inactivity would, she knew, drive him crazy. And because he held himself to so high an account, he would never forgive himself if this situation continued for much longer.

The low light was concentrated where they were sitting, a small island of peace, and the room held that slight fragrance of incense that always reminded Sheridan of grassy cliffs overlooking the sea. Into this dim, scented stillness, Delenn finally spoke.

'The kind of strength that is built on the weakness and suffering of others cannot last; at some point it can only be destroyed. But the strength that is built on what is strong, on what is right, that is strength that stands alone. It will always endure and in the end it will overcome everything that challenges it. His strength is built on weakness – yours is not.' She rested her hand lightly on his. After a moment he curled his fingers around hers; they felt so delicate between his.

'Would you like some tea?'

'I, uh-' He could still smell it. The heavy, sweet stench of decay. And he could swear he could taste the metallic tang of blood. The smell of it was in his clothes, in his hair and he had dragged it with him, here, to Delenn's pristine quarters and she watched him so calmly. He stood abruptly. 'I shouldn't be here.'

Off-guard, she stared at him, wondering how she had offended.

He saw the sudden stiffening in the set of her shoulders, her back rigid. 'I smell like a slaughter-house, Delenn; I'm sorry, I should go. I need-' He ran a hand through his hair. He needed to scrub it out of his skin. He needed to be somewhere very far away from this. He needed the images out of his head.

'You need to rest.' She hadn't moved from her seat. 'Sit. Drink some tea – it well help to calm you.'

She didn't need to raise her voice to command an army, he thought, and slowly sank back down onto her sofa. It was something in her voice: hypnotic as the ocean, clear as a bell. And those depthless eyes. He watched her as she crossed the room, as she gathered items from drawers and cupboards, her movements swift from repetition. She had left the lighting low and he had to watch carefully to make out her features. The only sounds were the gentle rattle of china and glass and rustling silk. Just for a little while he could forget everything else, he could just watch her. Beauty in the middle of so much darkness.

'Have you ever seen the robed singers in Downbelow?' Delenn paused, looked at him. 'They look a bit like monks, they have a sort of Gregorian chant that they sing in exchange for anything you can give them.'

'I have never heard of such a thing here.'

'I'll take you. When this is-' Another thought; he straightened. 'You go to Downbelow sometimes, don't you?'

She stopped again, only momentarily. 'I have been there on occasion.'

'Right.' He had seen her, the dark hood pulled over her head so that no-one could tell that she was Minbari at all.

'I am no fool and I am able to take care of myself.'

It was, he admitted, an irrational fear. Even if Delenn did choose to go into Brown Sector, there were any number of Rangers who would watch over her every step. And then there was the ever-present Lennier – and Sheridan was under no illusion that the young aide would not fight like a man possessed to protect her.

Delenn placed the tray carefully on the table, picked up a small bowl between her hands and held it out to him. He took it, fingers brushing hers again, lingering a little.

'Thank-you.' It was not tea – something thicker, darker. He looked at her questioningly.

'My father used to make it for me when I could not sleep. And if I still could not sleep, I would at least feel comforted.'

She rarely mentioned her family: if he had known her better he would have asked but he could see, as he always had before, that there was pain for her there. He saw tenderness in her face and wondered if it was for him or for the memory of those from whom she was so far away. A little of both, perhaps.

He took a sip from the bowl, watched her through the fragrant steam; it reminded him of the hot chocolate they served in Spain, along the route to Santiago de Compostela, but this was richer, more bitter, spicier. And he felt its warmth spread through him; a true warmth that replaced the feverish heat he had carried with him. The exhaustion he had been holding back settled on him like a yoke; he felt like he may never stand up again.

He looked up at her; Delenn's face was grave. 'Anything else?'

He thought vaguely of his curtailed dinner and realised, with surprise, that he was hungry. 'I uh, I don't suppose that you have any leftover flarn?'

She smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

_December 28_

The only fresh information from the post-mortem consisted of more grisly details about the means of death. The victim had still been alive when his headbone had been hewn away; most of the blood-pool was a result of the occipital artery having been severed. The shock had triggered cardiac arrest before he had had the time to bleed to death. Lacerations and contusions all over the body was testimony of the vicious beating administered before the final, fatal attack. And some of his ribs had, indeed, been broken. But the body of the victim kept the identity of the killer secret, as he had done in life. It was the early hours of the morning before any of the command staff finally reached their quarters, only a few hours before they would begin another shift.

Ivanova slept fitfully: her fevered dreams were filled with images of darkness and pain. She gave it up in the end, moved through to her small sitting room and curled herself up on her sofa, taking with her the slender volume of poetry that Talia had once lent her. The real Talia, she reminded herself. She made a point of remembering the real Talia. Susan leafed through it idly, read a few lines.

_I wake to a dark hour out of time, go to the window._

_No stars in this black sky, no moon to speak of, no name_

_or number to the hour, no skelf of light._

She read about the death of love and for a moment tears blinded her, blurring the words. She tilted her head back, refusing to let them fall. Susan had not wept for Talia; she would not do it now.

When she appeared in the officers' mess a few hours later she looked perfect, as always, hair and make-up precise. Even so, the circles under her eyes were visible at close quarters and when Sheridan joined her in the queue he offered her a sympathetic smile.

'Bad night?'

'Yes, bad night. The mornings aren't much better; the afternoons can be pretty rough.'

He smiled, collected his tray and followed to her to a quiet table.

The constant noise seemed deafening this morning, Susan thought. The sharp clatter of cutlery against plate, the voices crossing each other, the shouts and crashes from the kitchen. Most days she could ignore it, filter it out – but today every noise was like an assault. She prodded her food moodily and felt sick.

'Feel like talking about it?'

John didn't pry. If she had said 'no' he would have left it that; but he had a way of looking at people that made them start talking. It was, she thought, quite a talent.

'It's crazy.' Susan kept her voice low. 'We're heading straight into a war which is, quite frankly, worse than having a serial killer on the loose; but I'm more worried about this than about anything else.'

'Mm.' He nodded thoughtfully. You know, it is quite interesting-'

'You're about to play fast and loose with that word "interesting" again, aren't you?'

'Wise-ass.'

She smiled. 'That's why you keep me around.'

'No, I keep you around, Commander, because no-one else wants the job.'

Her fork waved vaguely. 'Plenty of people want the job – they just don't want to work for you. You're impossible.'

He lent his elbows on the table. 'Do you want to hear my theory or not?'

'Well, you're going to tell me anyway even if I say no.'

He grinned. 'Captain's privilege.' Sheridan drank some of the thing that passed for coffee. 'As you say, we're about to get into a war with an enemy that we can't even define. Not to mention the small matter of Santiago's assassination. It's more than the Human brain handle. I'm not trying to detract from the horror of what has happened here, but it's something tangible, something on a relatively small scale that we have a chance of beating. We displace our worries about the big thing, the thing we can't control, onto the smaller thing.'

Ivanova thought this over. 'You know, that homespun psychology almost makes sense.'

Sheridan grinned at her. 'I like the "almost" in that sentence.'

They ate companionably and Susan began to relax a little. She had never found it particularly easy to rely on anyone. She didn't rely on Sheridan, not exactly. But she appreciated what he offered her, that unconditional friendship. If she were ruthlessly honest she would have admitted that she needed it. Perhaps, in those dark hours, she did; but even if she did not, at all times she gave him the same thing in return.

She abandoned her final piece of toast; it was already hard enough to be used as a brick. 'How's your sister, by the way? You must have missed seeing her last night…' She paused as her captain dropped his fork and buried his face in his hands.

'Dammit! I forgot.' He sighed heavily, looked up at her. For the first time, Susan noticed how tired he looked. 'She comes all this way to see me and with everything that's been going on I've forgotten she was even here. I meant to send her a message last night, but-'

'The post-mortem.'

He nodded. It had been after four in the morning before it was complete; almost five by the time Franklin had finished going over his findings. Sheridan checked the time. 'It's too early for her to be up. I'll swing by her quarters before I hit C&C.'

'Such a waste,' Ivanova said airily. 'If my family came to visit me – not that I have family to come, of course…'

'Ivanova…' It was a threatening growl.

She suppressed a smile and then winced as another crash of breaking crockery sounded from the kitchen, followed by agitated voices. 'What the hell do they do in there?'

'I don't know but I think they might be disembowelling a Pak'ma'ra.' He pushed his plate away. 'It's the only thing that explains what they call breakfast in this place.'

'I thought you were supposed to be helping me get over my nightmares.'

Sheridan grinned at her again. 'What gave you that idea?' He wiped his fingers on a napkin. 'You done?'

They parted companionably: Susan to the command deck, Sheridan to his office. This would be, he tried to tell himself, a better day than the last had been. Although, part of it had been far happier than he had imagined it could be. For a moment, John allowed himself to enjoy the memory of those hours, with Delenn, that had passed far too quickly. So many things he was grateful to her for: not just for last night, but for so many other things as well. And she appeared to desire his company as much as he did hers.

Sheridan smiled to himself. Liz had been right there, he thought. And he was grateful to her, too – for that unquestioning acceptance that meant far more to him than he had realised. And with Liz came the thought of Anna, the way it always did. It was almost a year ago, it had to be – though he could not name the precise moment – when Anna had become forever part of a different time, part of his past, and he could think of her that way. Like a thorn drawn from a deep wound. Anna, Elizabeth, Delenn. Names and faces swirled together but no longer with that bruising mix of loss and guilt.

By the time Sheridan reached his office he had regained some sort of equilibrium – calmer, cheerful almost. His spirits deflated somewhat when he saw the small mountain of paperwork that had appeared on his desk overnight. At the end of each day he cleared it all – everything read over, signed, filed and returned to where it should be. And each morning it was there, all over again, as though he had never done anything at all. Sheridan rifled through some of the sheets. Requisitions, authorisations, transfer requests, docket slips, diplomatic credentials… He picked up a data crystal that did not appear to belong to any of the official business that was currently laying siege to the desk but which might just afford a few more moments of freedom from the tedium entailed by actually running the station. The message that the crystal contained was short. Before the BabCom logo had reappeared on the screen, he was out of the door. On his way through the myriad corridors and tubes he paged the security team, but he still arrived ahead of them outside of her quarters. He pressed the chime once, twice, tried to ignore the fear that he already knew was true. There was no answer. He initiated a security override and entered. A few moments later Garibaldi and his team arrived to find Sheridan standing in the middle of the otherwise empty rooms.

'Captain?' Garibaldi held the PPG ready, Zack at his back.

Sheridan turned slowly; for a moment his face felt too numb to speak. 'It looks like he's made his next move, Michael. He's got Elizabeth.'

ooOOoo

The mysterious, staggeringly efficient communications that are always in evidence in these situations were soon working admirably on Babylon 5. There was more imaginative, exaggerated rumour than there was actual truth, but it spread nonetheless. And it reached Green Sector at around the same time that Londo Mollari was easing himself into wakefulness.

Keeping the lights low, he stumbled into his sitting room, pulling his robe closer around himself. His head throbbed and his throat was unspeakably dry. There had been a time, and he remembered it well, when he had been able to carouse all night with the best Brivari and the most beautiful of slave-girls and feel almost no ill effects in the morning. Now, however... Now, he was forced to admit, he was no longer a young Centauri. He had not been for a long time. His hands shook slightly as he gathered the glass and bottle. The Humans called it 'hair of the dog' – a name whose significance escaped him but he appreciated its practical applications. The alcohol seared the back of his throat and he coughed helplessly for a moment. A little while and his head would begin to clear.

And then...

Londo sighed.

Then another day, just like the one before and the one before that; and he would have another night like the last and then another morning just like this one. It was no way to live. But what to do? that was the dilemma. It's never too late – that was another Human phrase. Never too late. He could but hope; although, hope was not something with which he had ever been intimately acquainted.

His door opened and Vir, paler and apparently more nervous than usual, entered. It was a disgustingly early hour and Londo glared at him.

'Great Maker. Have you any idea what time it is?'

'Yes, yes, I do.' His rounded shoulders curved more; he peered anxiously at his superior. 'Are you unwell, Londo? You look a little-'

'Tired, Vir?' Londo enquired mildly. 'Do I look as though I may have a headache? As though I have only recently woken up and have not yet made myself ready to face the unique horrors that this day will undoubtedly bring?' He winced at his own raised voice, sank onto a sofa and shielded his eyes with his hand. 'Yes? Well?'

Vir stood, his round face petulant.

'Oh, what is this now, eh? Are you now going to punish me by not telling me whatever it is? Especially now that I am so keen to hear it.'

The younger Centauri was still silent for a moment, his lips pressed together; but his need to speak was too strong.

'You know how you were telling me that at the last Council meeting the captain told you about the Human women who had been … killed … in Downbelow?' There was an expectant pause.

Londo sighed, finally said 'Yes, I remember. Though by the time you reach the end of your story, I might have lost my memory entirely due to extreme old age.'

Vir ignored the last comment, settled in a chair and resumed his narrative.

'Well, I was talking to Feba Narsili in the Zocalo-'

'Narsili?' Londo repeated the name.

'Yes. He sells Brivari.'

'Ah, yes.' Londo made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. 'It is terrible. And he overcharges for that filth.'

'I am trying to tell you something.'

Londo sat back, his eyes half-closed, waited.

'Anyway, Feba is friendly with one of the station security officers…'

Londo poured himself another drink, took small sips and started to feel the familiar warmth that just took the edge off everything. Vir's words faded in and out and Londo listened with only half an ear, working out odds with himself on when his attaché might finish and noting, with a rare indulgence, that there was something comforting about the cadences of Vir's monologues.

'…He kidnapped the captain's sister!'

The glass paused mid-way to Londo's mouth. 'What was that?'

Vir looked hurt. His fan of hair quivered indignantly.

'You never listen to anything I say. Sometimes I don't know why I bother talking to you; you don't pay any attention-'

'Yes, yes, yes, all right, Vir, I am sorry.' Londo waved a hand, shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. Already, at this hour, everything was uncomfortable. It was going to be one of those days. They were all one of those days. 'It is very early in the morning. I promise that I will listen with all the ears I have. Now, tell me again – this is Captain Sheridan's sister you are talking about, yes?'

'Yes.'

Another sip. 'Kidnapped, you say?'

Vir nodded. He leaned forward, almost wringing his hands. He was soft-hearted, Londo thought; and that was not a quality particularly admired by the Centauri.

And sometimes he thought that that was a real pity.

'The captain's sister – Elizabeth, that's her name - has gone missing and what Feba told me from his friend in Security is that they think that she was taken by the person responsible for killing all those poor women in Downbelow. But, of course, most people on the station don't know about that part. They're still trying to keep that quiet.'

Londo was silent. He had seen Sheridan with her - a slender, pretty woman he thought, with the judgement of one who has known many pretty women. 'I wonder…' he said softly, toyed with the stem of his glass.

'Are you all right?'

The ambassador shifted again, blinked over at Vir. 'Yes. Yes, of course. Leave me now; I have to think something over.'

ooOOoo

'We've questioned the staff at the restaurant and as many people who were dining there last night as we could find, but all we could confirm is that Elizabeth left alone and so far no-one remembers where she may have gone after that. We do know that she didn't make it back to her quarters.'

'So, we don't actually know anything helpful.' Ivanova stated flatly.

Garibaldi cleared his throat, looked between her and the captain. 'We're still investigating. Look, someone must have seen something; she didn't just vanish into thin air. We'll find a witness, it's only a matter of-'

'Time?' Sheridan's voice was quiet; his hands were clenched loosely on the desk in front of him. His thumb was rubbing back and forth reflexively along the side of one finger. 'It may be time that we don't have.' A moment. 'Can you get anything from the data crystal?'

Garibaldi examined him. They all did – the security chief, Ivanova and Franklin, sitting around the table in the briefing room. Sheridan in turn was focused on Garibaldi, apparently oblivious to the scrutiny.

Michael himself was uneasy. Sheridan was his superior: a highly trained, efficient military officer. Someone that Garibaldi had come to trust, respect, even like. Someone he was proud to serve alongside. But when it came to the personal, Sheridan could be explosive and that was not somewhere to which Garibaldi wished to return. He could hardly treat Sheridan the way he would the family of any other victim – there could be no half-truths, no comforting white lies, nothing with-held. Even if he did try it, Sheridan had access to all of the information anyway. His only remaining option was the absolute truth, good or bad.

'Okay. As you all know, the message on the crystal was audio only. Wherever it was recorded there's practically no background noise, so we can't pinpoint what area he might be operating from. But that doesn't mean that the crystal itself is useless. We've started running the voiceprint through the computer to see if we can find a match.'

Next to him, Ivanova moved restlessly. It was a huge database – the military records alone accounted for tens of thousands; then there were the criminal and corporate... And that wasn't even including Earth colonies. It could take days. Weeks, perhaps. And at the end of it they still may not have an answer if there was no matching record anywhere.

It was the truth they all knew and that none of them said. And it was their best lead so far.

Garibaldi blew out a breath, both palms flat on the table. 'Look, I just want to say that I believe that as long as our Mr X thinks that he has the upper hand, he has no reason to hurt Elizabeth. He's having too much fun playing with you.'

A slight noise was the response.

'And for what it's worth, I agree,' said Franklin. 'If he's coming out into the open it might give us the advantage. No matter how intelligent someone like this may be, they're never quite as smart as they like to think they are.' Sheridan nodded and Stephen wondered if he had actually heard a word.

Sheridan had heard them, all of them, and more besides. It was his own words from the night before that played on a loop in his head. He would put up with anything, he had told Michael, to stop this killer. Anything. Well, he had been called on it and he was not prepared for these stakes.

He had spent the past few hours like a sleepwalker. After the initial discovery he had, against all expectations, left Garibaldi to continue his investigation unhindered, had arrived on the command deck to conduct business as usual. Ivanova had watched his every movement. She watched him still. His jaw was set so hard she was sure his teeth would break. And he had said almost nothing.

The discreet chime at the door set them all on edge; Ivanova crossed to the panel, listened to the soft voice.

'It's Delenn. She says she has some information for us.'

Sheridan's head lifted. 'Let her in.'

The ambassador entered, Lennier following closely behind. She looked tense, her eyes immediately seeking Sheridan. He had stood when she entered; his words of greeting were clipped. They all moved to make room for the new arrivals. Delenn sat heavily, Susan thought; she always held herself rigidly upright but today it seemed to cost her more effort.

Delenn's gaze wandered over all of them; she moistened her lips. 'Lennier has been able to discover a great deal about the Minbari who was found yesterday, both from his family and from military records. I believe that some of it may be of help.'

She motioned to Lennier, deferring to him. The young Minbari bowed his head momentarily, glancing at all of them from under lowered eyes. When he began his words were hesitant, soon gathering strength as his story continued

ooOOoo

In the December of 2247, Jerhann of the Moon Shields Clan, a scion of the Warrior Caste, was serving on board one of the smaller Minbari vessels - an old ship, with a proud history. He was, by Human reckoning, eighteen years of age. The only son of a Warrior father and a Worker mother, he had felt the calling to the Warrior Caste and had followed that call with a true heart. He had believed in the war, as so many had. He had trained hard; he desired to serve. Jerhann was all that a Warrior should be and he was a credit to his clan and his caste.

The ship, though well maintained, was still old. There had been a technical fault, it had become disabled and had been separated from the rest of its fleet. The crew had been forced to evacuate and in the small fliers and life-pods, they were an easy target for an EarthForce cruiser. They had still fought back, of course, but there was little hope for them. The survivors were taken prisoner. For a Minbari, it was shameful; for a Warrior it was beyond endurance, especially in the hands of a race they considered to be so inferior to their own. Their captors were not content with simply holding them, however. They were taken to the remote and inhospitable planet of Vostra 5, a place valuable only as a listening post close to Minbari space.

That they were so close to their homeworld was simply another insult.

It was there, in the underground bunkers that became their prison, that these Human soldiers had experimented with their captives: seeing how much pain they could take, how much torture, before they finally died. The men were good at keeping their subjects alive, and they could keep prolonging this agony for weeks. When the orders must have come for them to pull out from the base, the bodies of the Minbari were turned into a funeral pyre – whether they were dead or still barely alive. Out of this pile of slowly burning flesh, Jerhann was pulled by one of his captors and for the rest of the war he was a slave on board a Human ship. One that was neither seasoned nor proud. It was named the _Galatea_.

After the surrender at the Line, Jerhann returned to Minbar. His family attempted to reintegrate him back into society, tried to ignore the dishonour of his having been a prisoner of war without – it would appear – attempting to escape that Human ship. For a time he remained at home, immersing himself in studying Humans: their culture, their history and their behaviour. He spoke rarely and when he did it was always of the man who had pulled him from the fire. Tormentor turned saviour. They never heard him give the man's name; he referred to him always and only as 'The Master'. Then there was a period of quiet and his parents began to hope that he might recover. His mother even believed that he might come to the path of the Workers, find peace in the beauty and simplicity of good, honest labour. But then it began: every few weeks he would go missing for a couple of days at a time. When he returned, always early in the morning, his robes would be stained with the blood of wild animals. That continued for a cycle, the absences becoming more frequent and more prolonged, until he did not return at all. A search proved fruitless – his clan disowned him, his family mourned him and nothing more was heard of the young Warrior. Until now.

ooOOoo

'We believe that he may have gone in search of the man he called "The Master",' Lennier concluded, 'and that this man is the same person whom you seek.'

There was silence. Ivanova shook her head, suddenly cold and clammy inside her uniform. 'How- How could something like that happen?

'It happens all the time,' Sheridan replied.

'I can understand him going after that son of a bitch to kill him, but to stay with him? Why?

Sheridan shrugged, his hands clasped in front of him. 'Stockholm Syndrome, perhaps.'

'Excuse me, Captain.' Now that he had stopped speaking, and seated awkwardly between Delenn and Susan, Lennier looked as though he were trying to disappear. 'What is Stockholm Syndrome?'

'It's a pattern of behaviour that was recognised on Earth in the twentieth century,' Sheridan answered levelly. Only if you listened closely could the strained undercurrent be heard. 'A group of people were taken hostage in a city called Stockholm – that's in Sweden. I can't remember all of the details but after they were released they were ... sympathetic ... towards their captors; they even defended them. A psychological and emotional bond is formed between the captor and the captive, they become dependent on one another.'

'And in extreme cases,' Franklin added, 'the victim can seek out their captor long after they've been released. It's as though they can't function without this other person in their lives.'

'I see.' Lennier absorbed the information. 'Thank-you.'

'It's enough to almost make you feel sorry for the guy,' Ivanova remarked.

Delenn cleared her throat, her hands clasped in her lap. 'Is this information of any help to you?'

'Yes.' Garibaldi nodded. 'Yes, it is. It's a lot of help. If our perp was in EarthForce, there'll be records and that should include a voiceprint. We can run a crosscheck with the one we already have and-' He shrugged. 'Let's just say our pool of suspects has got a hell of a lot smaller.'

'How long will that take?' Sheridan asked.

'With any luck a couple of hours, now that we know exactly what it is we're looking for.' Garibaldi looked back at Delenn and Lennier. 'And for that, I owe you both a big one.'

'A-a one what?' Lennier asked quietly.

'I believe that Mr Garibaldi is referring to a favour.' For a moment a hint of a smile warmed Delenn's face. 'It is not necessary.'

The security chief inclined his head to them.

'Well, it looks like that's as far as we can go at the moment.' Sheridan stood, straightening his jacket. 'If you'll all excuse me, I have the re-cycling figures to check.' His glance rested on Delenn. It was almost imperceptible, that fleeting something around his mouth, his eyes. And indefinable. 'Thank-you, for everything you've done. Both of you.'

She nodded wordlessly, watched him go. Her nails dug into the backs of her hands.

'Do you think one of us should…' Ivanova began, a rare moment of uncertainty.

Franklin shook his head. 'No. I think we should just leave him alone for a while. Give him the time to stop being "The Captain" for a few hours.'

It was a god-awful mess, Susan thought. It had been from the beginning and now it was just worse. She pushed her chair back roughly as the meeting broke up. There were few words to say. She managed a smile for Delenn and it was returned weakly. The ambassador's face was like a mask.

Delenn herself was conscious of a deep uneasiness. It was her nature to offer comfort; where John was concerned it was more than anything so simple. He had barely spoken to her, which was understandable she told herself. But still that insidious feeling that now, for this, her comfort may not be welcomed.

'The captain seemed very ... calm ... under the circumstances,' Lennier observed. They walked side-by-side.

'Yes. I believe that he is trying to be.'

There was silence; then, 'It is interesting: until I read about Jerhann, I had never heard anything about this type of behaviour. I find it strange that it should be such a frequent occurrence with the Humans that they actually have a name for it.' He paused for a moment. 'I wonder how much is written on the subject; Captain Sheridan and Doctor Franklin seemed to know a lot about it-'

'Lennier.' Delenn stopped, faced him. He returned her gaze openly, waiting for her words. 'I do not think that now is the appropriate time.'

'No.' He bowed his head, smiled slightly. Almost self-deprecatingly. 'No, of course, you are correct.'

She took his arm but remained silent. Her pace had quickened. She relied greatly on Lennier, was very fond of him; and yet there were times, like now, when his dispassionate responses unsettled her. It was not, she was quite sure, that he disliked Humans – he seemed to like the Babylon 5 crew well enough. He owed Captain Sheridan a debt of honour, had spoken of him with some admiration at times. Michael Garibaldi could even be termed his friend. But Delenn knew that Lennier did not share the affection for that race that she felt.

He was young, she told herself. He had seen much in his time on the station but he was still such an innocent. Not naïve, but inexperienced; and he was naturally curious. He had a passion to learn, to understand. That was not something she could fault – it was a quality she possessed herself and one that she had encouraged in him. All he needed was more tutelage, to be taught the way that Draal and Dukhat had taught her. She had, perhaps, neglected him of late and he was, after all, her responsibility.

Delenn squeezed her young attaché's arm affectionately. Yes: a little more teaching, more advice, and Lennier would be fine.

ooOOoo

Franklin entered MedLab with a deep feeling of weariness that he tried to ignore. His eyes were raw; the muscles in his neck and shoulders had turned to a series of small rocks. And he thought longingly of that slim silver case in the top drawer of his desk.

It was not a problem, he told himself, and ignored the lie. He glanced around, not because he was guilty, not because he had anything to hide. Just because it was no-one else's business, but people could get the wrong idea. It was the constant mantra in his head.

He sat heavily at his desk. Still six hours of his shift left and he wasn't sure he could make it. He tried to remember what it was like to sleep in a proper bed and concluded that that was something he had only dreamt of, not experienced lately. He had to get through the next hours; people relied on him, they needed him, they always needed so damn much.

His hand moved to the drawer.

'Doctor-'

Franklin started, head snapping up. 'What?'

The young medic was taken aback. 'I just need you to sign off on the release forms.'

He let out a breath. 'Right, yeah.'

'I'm being thrown out now.'

Franklin looked up again; he hadn't noticed her standing behind the other doctor. Yuki Ogawa, bandaged but undefeated.

'You sound very happy about that.'

'Well, I really hate hospitals. Mind you, everyone hates hospitals.' She paused. 'All right, obviously you don't because I suppose it would be really stupid to work in a place that you couldn't stand; I mean-'

'Maybe you should stop talking.' He could feel himself start to smile.

She cleared her throat. 'Yes, you might be right.'

He checked her chart, scrawled his signature, passed it back. Yuki smiled as the other doctor left them, still hovered over his desk.

'Do you really enjoy it?' She waved a hand. 'All this, I mean.'

Franklin leaned back. 'Well, it would be stupid of me to work at something I really hated.'

She laughed softly. 'I should have seen that coming.'

He looked her over. 'That's a lovely brooch.'

Her fingers moved to it, stroked it. 'Thank-you.'

'I've never seen anything quite like it before. You mind my asking where you got it?'

'I don't mind. I got it on Minbar.'

'Minbar.' She was holding his gaze and it seemed as though she was daring him to ask more. 'You must spend a lot of time there.'

Yuki smiled. 'We exchange ideas on the sentient psyche.'

He blinked. 'Sentient- What are you, a psychologist?'

She hooked a chair with her foot, pulled it over and sat down. 'I was trained in it. I even have a doctorate in it; a lot of people have a hard time believing that. I can't imagine why,' she added drily. 'Ambassador Delenn has been very helpful in ... arranging access for me. Places, people, archives.'

'You must know her pretty well.'

'Not really.' She cradled her damaged arm in her hand. 'But she's the only person I know who's here all of the time.'

'I see.'

Most people, Franklin thought, put in too much detail when they lied. Yuki didn't make that mistake. Just enough to sound like the truth, vague enough that she wouldn't get herself tangled up if someone asked more questions. He wasn't sure how he knew she was lying – was even less certain about why it didn't seem to matter that she was.

'So.' She shifted in her seat, settling. 'What do they call you apart from Doctor Franklin?'

He hesitated. 'Stephen.'

'Stephen.' Her gaze was appraising, as though he were a potato she were about to peel. 'Yes, I can see that. You look like a Stephen – but not a Steve. Does anyone ever call you that?'

'Not more than once.'

She smiled, pleased, and he had the feeling that this was somehow the right answer.

'Would you like to go for a drink sometime?'

'What?'

'A drink. Also known as a beverage: sustenance in liquid form. I would have thought that you would know that.'

'I, er-' She was attractive. Very attractive. Even with her face still paler than it should be and her hair, unwashed while she'd been in MedLab and all matted on one side, dragged back messily, she was still lovely. Her eyes were beautiful – a shade closer to amber than chocolate. She had the sort of voice that Garibaldi would describe as having plenty of feminine in it. With just the right amount of throat. 'Doctors aren't supposed to date their patients.'

'I have news for you: I'm not your patient anymore. I've been signed out.'

'You still have to have your stitches taken out.'

She glanced around. 'You're not the only doctor here. Take a risk – sign me over to someone else.'

He fiddled with some of the instruments on his desk. And she still watched him. She had been through a traumatic experience and he- He had made this mistake before. 'You- You've been through an ordeal, these last few days and I don't know if it would be such a good idea.'

'Oh. Oh, I see; of course, because I was damaged and you fixed me. Look, I don't need a protector; I don't make a habit of going for powerful authority figures; I don't have an Electra complex and I'm not looking for a father figure. I have a perfectly good father of my own; I loved my mother.' Her chin was raised. She seemed caught between temper and laughter and the effect was wonderful. 'I'm not suffering from displacement, transference, post-trauma or anything else. I just happen to like you. If you're not interested, fine.' Laughter won out; her smile was wide, promising. 'If you are, you'd better speak up.'

'Are you always this forward?'

'I find it gets results.'

She was peeling him again. And there was more throat in her voice. He put up a final, token resistance. 'You know, I was warned about consorting with strange women.'

'Oh, that's no problem. If we go out to dinner, I'll let you pay. That way you're not consorting with me, I'm consorting with you.'

Stephen laughed and it felt as though it was the first time he had in days. Weeks, perhaps. 'Is that logic something you learnt from the Minbari?'

'From them I learnt that each and every situation in life has two perspectives and that you should weigh each one before coming to a decision,' she replied gravely.

His fingers tapped lightly against the desktop. 'Well, taking into account both sides of the argument – I guess I'll see you at eight.'

Her eyes darkened in triumph.

ooOOoo

It was sheer force of will that kept Sheridan to his office. He would be shadowing Garibaldi otherwise, trying to do the man's job for him and none of them would get anywhere. And he knew that he was fooling no-one – not himself, not anyone else – by pretending that he was actually distracting himself by focusing on work. He had stared at letters that he didn't see, looked at columns of figures that scrambled themselves into meaninglessness and throughout he had felt each second crawl by. And still no word.

A shadow across the floor from the doorway.

'Captain Sheridan, might I have a word with you please?'

John sat back. Of all the people he could face at this moment – and there were few enough of them - Londo Mollari did not make it onto the list.

'Of course.' He gestured to the chair opposite his desk.

The Centauri's rigid hair didn't move as he crossed the floor; Londo settled himself, adjusting the set of his coat. He regarded the captain calmly. 'I was most distressed to hear the news of your sister.'

Sheridan's jaw tightened. 'Bad news travels fast around here.'

Londo's hands spread. 'But of course. It is one of the great untapped natural resources of the universe. If you were to harness the energy of the rumours and gossip in this place for just one day, you could probably power the station generators for an entire year.'

Sheridan laughed, felt almost kindly towards the Centauri. He put down his pen. 'What can I do for you, Ambassador?'

The bushy eyebrows raised. 'For me? Oh no, my dear Sheridan, this is what I can do for you.'

He straightened, couldn't quite hide the surprise. 'Which is?'

Londo linked his fingers together across his stomach. 'I am a people watcher. I like to sit in the bars on the Zocalo and observe all that goes on. It can be very interesting; and you can learn a great deal just by sitting and watching. It is a fascinating past time. You should try it, one day. I have even seen you, Captain. I saw you with your sister – a charming lady.' A hint of slyness entered his eyes. 'Like you, she seemed very friendly with Delenn.'

A pause. 'Yes.'

A slight smile curled Londo's lips. 'Yes.' It would be easy to torment the man, he thought; hold this over him. Use it as retaliation for that destroyed Centauri ship.

There was a haunted look in Sheridan's eyes; Londo Mollari was all too familiar with that look.

'I saw her again last night – your sister, that is – coming from the direction of the _Fresh Air_ in the company of a man I had never seen before.'

There was longer silence this time. Sheridan stared at him and Londo sat, patient.

'You- You saw them.' His voice was low, harsh, a tremor that threatened to break.

Londo inclined his head.

Sheridan leant forward, that stunned numbness ended. His eyes glittered. 'Could you recognise him again? Would you be able to describe him?'

The ambassador's smile was indulgent. 'Naturally. I have an excellent memory for faces and this man's is most clear in my mind. I am at your disposal.'

Neither moved, both examining the other. 'Why are you doing this?'

Londo considered this; his pale eyes hardened for a moment, then he gave a smile that showed most of his teeth. 'Call it a conceit, a whim, if you will. Let us just say that it pleases me to be of service to you.'

As answers went it wasn't much of one, Sheridan thought; but at the moment he'd take them any way he could get them.


	7. Chapter 7

Susan entered the security suite and found Garibaldi, as was his habit, leaning back in his chair, his feet resting on a desk. She took a chair nearby.

'Any news?'

'Not yet.' He scrubbed at his eyes. 'You know what this is, don't you?'

'Your favourite part of the job?'

'My favourite part of the job. The hanging around waiting for information to come through.'

A smile quirked her lips. 'Haven't we already played this scene?'

'Maybe. But I still hate it and I reserve the right to go on hating it.'

'You could always just delegate it to someone else,' she replied.

'I could; but then I would have to be more creative in finding things to complain about and creative was never my strong point.' He stopped suddenly, leaning forward, zooming in on one of the monitors. 'I'll be one second.' Garibaldi tapped his link. 'Zack. Run an extra patrol through Red Nineteen. We've got a small group congregating and they look too furtive for my liking. Could be something, could be nothing.'

'Sure, Chief.'

He sat back again. 'Never a dull moment.'

Ivanova picked a loose thread off the sleeve of her jacket. Her eyes were grave and shadowed. 'Do you think that we can get an ID off Londo's description?'

'Yeah, I do. I have to hand it to him - it was pretty detailed; when Londo says he has someone's face clearly in his mind, he isn't kidding.'

'Mm.' She crossed one leg over the other. 'I still can't quite believe he volunteered for it. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.'

He looked slightly amused. 'Join the club. He did mention something about maybe calling in a favour in the future.' Ivanova's face darkened; Garibaldi held up his hands. 'I know, I know. Londo has the nerve of a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.'

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth again. 'You have quite a way with words.'

'I try. I know Londo can be difficult...' Her eyebrows rose. 'Okay, he's a pill; lately, even more so. But even with all of that I still sort of like the guy.'

Ivanova was sceptical. 'You don't like anybody.'

'I like you. Sometimes. On a good day.'

'Gee, thanks.'

He grinned infuriatingly. 'But we do seem to have killed two birds with one stone.' She looked at him expectantly; Garibaldi leant forward like a conspirator.

'One: we have a detailed description of the perp and that, along with the intel we got from Delenn, has got us a lot closer to making an ID. Two: I think that the shock of getting help from Londo has actually distracted the captain from being in shock over his sister. Temporarily, anyway.'

Ivanova laughed slightly. 'Who knows why Londo does half the things that he does. Me? I feel like strangling him most of the time and then… Then he turns up trumps.'

'What a universe, huh?'

She nodded and then the smile died on her lips. 'Has John talked to you? I mean really talked?'

Garibaldi sighed, stood up. 'No. Y'know, when he went off the deep-end over that Morden guy, it worried me. It pissed me off. Admittedly, I understood but it still pissed me off. But I gotta tell you, right now I'm even more worried. I wish he would blow up. But if this is the new, improved John Sheridan then I guess we'll just have to get used to it. Talk about being careful what you wish for…' He ran a hand over his head. Susan's frown-lines had deepened, the set of her mouth harder than usual. She had been John's friend long before he had, Garibaldi reminded himself. They were close. And she was fiercely protective of her friends. Hell, she wasn't the only one. 'I'm glad for everyone's sake that he isn't tearing the station apart; it wouldn't help him. But keeping it all in like this? If he loses it, I don't know what he'll do.' Garibaldi shrugged, thrust his hands into his pockets. 'I wish that he would open up some about it. I guess that means he hasn't said anything to you, either.'

'No, he hasn't.' Her voice was soft. There was always the very strong possibility, Susan reflected, that John had found someone else to talk to. She hoped so; but Delenn had seemed on edge this morning, and over more than just this whole nightmare and the news she was bringing to them.

Ivanova shared neither her suspicions nor her thoughts on the matter with Garibaldi and they sat in silence for some moments. When he spoke again she started, head jerking.

'You know I fed the details into the system, started a cross-check for any similar cases?'

'You've heard back on that?' She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer

'And how. There's been a similar pattern across the galaxy dating back to approximately two years after the war ended.'

'Two years,' she mused. 'That fits in with Delenn's timeline, factoring in Jerhann leaving Minbar and the two of them perfecting their M.O.'

'Exactly. And I'm sure that over the next few months they'll discover a whole bunch more. And there'll be other crimes before that – assaults, one-off killings, God knows what else.' The angles of his face looked harsh.

Ivanova's gaze followed his restless wandering around the office. 'How bad is it so far? I mean, how many..?' She nodded vaguely toward the computer-bank.

Garibaldi came to a halt, rested against the desk. 'Those two had quite a busy time over the years: five or six women at a time and then it would all go quiet – sometimes for over a year. Then it would start again. Including the four girls who were killed here we're looking at upwards of sixty victims.'

She tried to absorb it and couldn't. She tried to picture their faces and it was all too easy. Over sixty women. One was bad enough. The collar of her uniform felt too tight. She tilted her head back, studied the ceiling for a moment. There was a patch of mould slowly spreading in one corner. Ivanova looked back at him. 'It sounds like we've come the closest so far.'

'Close?' Michael shook his head. 'We're not just going to come close, Susan, we're going to get him. Especially if I've got anything to do with it.'

She left him to his logs and monitors. And hoped that all of their better angels would rally together and given them a fighting chance on this one. Michael tried to learn the lesson of patience: it did not come easily but it was, he reckoned, the only way he might retain his sanity. His better angel, perhaps, might have heard Susan's request. One of the comp. panels chimed, the information flagged as priority.

Garibaldi read it twice, eyes gleaming. 'Gotcha.'

ooOOoo

The moments spent outside Sheridan's office felt like an eternity before Garibaldi was told to come in. The captain was staring out of the window, hands behind his back. He didn't turn when Garibaldi entered, didn't seem to notice that he was even there. One hand was clenching, relaxing, clenching, relaxing...

'Are you okay?' A banal question and one to which he already knew the answer. He didn't know what else to ask.

'I've just been speaking to my brother-in-law. I had to tell him what happened. It's one conversation I could have done without.' The words were bitten off.

'You don't get on?'

A slight shrug of his shoulders. 'Oh, it isn't that … exactly. He's a good guy, I guess, but he's just… I can't seem to… No, we don't get on. He has a tendency to disappear up his own ass sometimes. I mean, Liz is in danger of her life and he just questions me like some goddamn lawyer. What does he think we're doing out here? Sitting around waiting for her to be chopped up like…' He stopped, ran his hands through his hair, let out a long breath and sat down. 'What did you want to tell me?'

Garibaldi took one of the chairs, slid a file across the table. Sheridan glanced at the cover, didn't move to take it; he waited for Michael.

'The information we've been waiting on came through: we can finally put a name to the face. Kyle Hendrickson. He served in EarthForce during the war, a lieutenant, and his ship was, no surprises here, the _Galatea_. As far as I can make out, he was pretty much a loner except for a small group of like-minded weirdoes on the same ship.'

'If that's in the records, why the hell weren't they had up on war crimes in the first place?'

Garibaldi was cynical. 'I think that comes under the heading, "The Least Glorious Moments in EarthForce History." Those members of the crew in charge of the Minbari prisoners underwent disciplinary hearings for use of excessive force in the line of duty - or some crap like that. Basically it translates as, they got away with it. Anyway, the Minbari never kicked up much fuss about war atrocities to begin with; you'd have to ask Delenn about that one. And EarthForce wouldn't want to admit to being anything but the good guys in all of this, so-

'So lets all turn a blind eye and pretend it never happened,' Sheridan finished. 'Because that has always worked out so well, hasn't it? Do they never learn?' He was still for a moment, silent; the anger that he was trying so desperately to contain just beneath the surface. 'So, Hendrickson.' He picked up the file.

'Hendrickson leaves EarthForce about eighteen months after the end of the war, and that is where it all gets even hazier. He was a drifter, picking up odd jobs all over the galaxy. Then he disappears from view altogether; now, there's no record of him coming on board Babylon Five but when I ran his picture through our computer logs it came up with a match to a Jack Whitechapel.'

Sheridan's face hardened. 'Whitechapel?'

'Yeah, so?'

The captain released a breath. 'The first recorded serial killer, Jack the Ripper. He made his kills in the East End of London – an area called Whitechapel.'

Garibaldi watched him. 'You've been looking into that, huh?'

Sheridan met his gaze. 'It seemed like a sensible precaution.' A moment. 'I can't say that I like his sense of humour much.'

He sat on the sofa, hands clasped loosely. Garibaldi still watched him, trying to pinpoint his exact mood and finding it far more difficult than he was accustomed to. Sheridan had always seemed pretty easy to read; or maybe, Garibaldi thought, he was just very good at giving that impression. He continued the briefing.

'It turns out there's a price on Hendrickson's head. Or, on the person we now know to be Hendrickson. A couple of years back there were a series of killings on a Centauri outpost: same M.O. and the timeframe fits with what we got on Jerhann so we can be pretty sure Hendrickson's the guy. The Centauri never knew who he was but they wanted the head of whoever was responsible. And where the Centauri are concerned they mean that literally. The victims were Centauri slave-girls. Their, uh, employers took exception to him killing their...'

'Merchandise?' It was said with dreadful and uncharacteristic sarcasm.

Garibaldi's face twitched. Merchandise was the word. In the rigid hierarchy that defined Centauri society, the slave-girls were at the very bottom of the food chain. Some of them couldn't even aspire to that less-than-lofty height. They were usually pimped out by whoever had bought them until they were too old or too broken to be of any further use, and then abandoned.

'Yeah, well, they're offering fifty thousand Centauri ducats to whoever hands him over to them.'

'How many were there?'

'Girls? Five.'

'So, ten thousand per life.' Sheridan looked at him levelly. 'If they wanted him for free, I might have considered it.'

There was silence for a time and Garibaldi could hear the faint roar of the shuttles from the tracks passing overhead. 'I've passed on the information to all security personnel and also to the Rangers – we might as well make the most of them while they're here. We're stepping up security throughout the station, concentrating on Brown and Grey Sector: no-one will sneeze on board that we won't know about.'

Sheridan nodded, stood, started pacing the floor. Not his usual wanderings but regimented, precise steps along one line. 'I've been thinking about this a lot.' He almost managed a wry smile. 'Obviously. This guy, Hendrickson, he's sitting back waiting to see what we'll do next; he's enjoying the fact that pretty much the whole crew is concentrating on him. He wants to know what our next move will be. So what if we don't make one?'

'Okay, now you've lost me.' Garibaldi watched him. There it was, he thought, that look; the one that meant that Sheridan had had one of his ideas, the ones from which he would not be diverted.

'I mean that we stop looking. We pull off all security. In other words, we do absolutely nothing.'

Garibaldi turned a hand palm-upwards. 'No offence, but have you gone out of your mind?' He stood up, faced him. 'How are we supposed to find him if we don't go after him?'

Sheridan held up a hand, placating. 'Just hear me out. You know how big this place is and you know, better than I do, how long it takes to find someone who doesn't want to be found. Now, we can try to corner him but we don't even know where we're looking; and even if we did manage it, it might just panic him into killing Liz and making a run for it. He wants our attention and so far we've given it to him. He wanted to rattle me and it's worked. We've done everything he wanted us to do. So how about we stop. We don't give it to him, then he'll come looking for us and while Liz is his bargaining chip, he won't want to give her up until he has what he wants.'

Garibaldi tilted his head back, looked at him from half-narrowed eyes. 'When we found Jerhann you said you didn't want to play the game. You change your mind?'

Sheridan's hand had clenched again. 'I also said that I'd put up with anything to get him, and this happened. No, I haven't changed my mind but we have to do something. He's following his own rulebook and dragging us along with him and I'm sick of it. You can't tell me you're not. I'll do anything I have to do to get her back, but on our terms, not his.'

'Okay.' Garibaldi nodded. 'Okay, I see that. For what it's worth, it might even be an idea that can work. It's still a crazy idea but maybe we need to fight crazy with crazy. Just tell me one thing: are you asking me to stand down security so you can go after him on your own? Because if you are-'

Sheridan cut him off. 'It's not like that; I learnt my lesson last time, believe me. I want your help, Michael. I need it; but I think that if we concentrate our energies closer to home and wait for him to contact us- Well, I really don't think that he'll be expecting that. It might just throw him off guard, and then…'

They faced each other. Garibaldi chewed the inside of his lip. 'Okay. Okay, we'll do this your way. But at least leave the Rangers to keep an eye out? They're a lot more unobtrusive than my people and no-one knows who they are.'

The captain had relaxed a little it seemed; the faint smile was almost benevolent. 'Yes, you can have your Rangers.'

Garibaldi started for the door. 'You're too kind. Y'know, I fully expect that by tomorrow morning the hair that I have left will have turned snow white.'

Sheridan returned to his desk, pulled a stack of files to the middle. 'Oh and, Michael...'

He turned.

'No small, discreet security detail; if we do this, we do it properly.'

The security chief tilted his head. 'Remind me: when was it you joined Psi-Corps?'

Sheridan's lips twitched. 'Go on, get out.'

'John...' Why was it so damn difficult? Michael wondered. Someone, a friend, in pain. It was supposed to be easy, surely, finding the words. 'Look, you know where to find me, yeah?'

Sheridan watched the man in his doorway. 'Yeah, I know.'

ooOOoo

Garibaldi stomped down the corridors, noticing the faces he passed only out of habit. It was one hell of a gamble. Yes, it may very well work; but if it didn't... He took a deep breath before entering the monitor room.

Zack looked up and for a moment Garibaldi felt a flare of anger seeing the black and yellow band around the younger man's arm. It would be easy to pick a fight; any excuse to blow off some steam. He bit it back.

'Okay, Zack, stand down the security patrols; everyone is back on regular duties.'

Zack put down slowly the flimsy he had been reading, kept his eyes on Garibaldi's face. 'Chief, are you sure about this? I mean … all the patrols?'

'Those are the captain's orders. We want everything back to normal within two hours.'

'Right.' Zack moistened his lips. 'Right. Okay. All the patrols.'

'Jeez, Zack, yes, all the patrols. Man, I know I'm speaking English – I recognise the sound.' He let out a breath. 'I'm sorry. Look, if everything goes according to plan this could all be over pretty soon.'

One of the plans that Zack never knew anything about but always just followed. And if this turned out to be a miscommunication, he could very well be the one to take the fall. 'Okay. Got it. I'll put through the orders. Where are you off to?'

Garibaldi had opened the door. 'I have to see a lady.'

Zack's smile was forced. 'Anyone I know?'

'Yes, but it's definitely not what you think.'

Zack started tapping at the console. 'Oh, Chief – there's someone here to see you. He's waiting next door.'

'Did he come with a name?'

Zack shrugged. 'He said it was personal and he's not armed.'

'Thanks.'

Garibaldi hesitated in the corridor. Seeing Delenn was his first priority: he could leave Mystery Man cooling his heels for a while longer. But it could be important. He opened the door, stepped inside.

A young man who had been sitting at the table stood, smiled as Garibaldi advanced. He took a few steps forward himself, stopped.

'Mr Garibaldi.'

Slim-faced, good-looking, dark hair cut short. A nice suit if not exactly new.

'What can I do for you?'

'Um, well, nothing really.' He looked amused, even a little relieved. 'We have met.'

Garibaldi frowned, examined him more closely. 'We have?'

The smile widened. 'Yes. Yesterday, actually. In Downbelow.'

Something around the eyes, the shape of the mouth.

'Andrew?'

The young man beamed. 'Hello.'

'Well, look at you.'

'I didn't think that my work clothes would be quite appropriate.'

Garibaldi had been right about the refinement; Andrew's words were carefully chosen, his voice pleasant.

'What did you want to see me about?'

'It wasn't much, really. I asked around, about the girls and the Minbari-' He paused, fixed Garibaldi's eye. 'He's the one, isn't he? In Grey Sector?'

'Yeah, that was him.'

Andrew nodded, his face losing a little colour. 'I thought so. It's pretty awful, isn't it?'

You don't know the half of it, Garibaldi thought. 'It is that.'

'A few people saw him about but no-one knows where he lived. Or they don't want to know – I'm not really sure.'

He hadn't expected Andrew to remember their conversation, much less follow through on his offer. Under the wig and make-up he had seemed young; out of them he looked younger still. And so eager to please. 'Do me a favour – will you look at a face for me?'

His shoulders lifted, dropped. 'Sure.' He followed Garibaldi to the BabCom unit, stared obediently at the image pulled up on the screen.

'Have you ever seen him?'

Andrew took a moment, studying it carefully. 'No, I haven't. Who is he?'

Garibaldi turned it off. 'Someone we're looking for.' He looked at Andrew seriously. 'Don't ask anymore questions, okay? I don't want it that the next time I see you is in the morgue.'

Andrew's dark eyes flicked back to the screen, understanding; he smiled wryly. 'Looks like you didn't need me after all.'

'Hey, what you told me – it pointed us in the right direction. It helped.'

It was probably the first time in a long while that Andrew Meyer had tried to do the right thing. It seemed to have given the young man a nice feeling. And Garibaldi wondered again how people like him ended up this way. He looked him over.

'Why did you agree to talk to me? Try to help?'

Andrew opened his mouth, dropped his gaze, looked up again. 'You talked to me like I was a normal person; like I was a normal man. I don't get that a lot. For someone like you to do that for someone like me...' He shrugged, embarrassed. 'It meant something.'

'Why don't you go home, Andrew?'

He shook his head. 'I can't. I keep telling myself that when I earn X amount of money, I'll stop; move on somewhere else, start again. But getting X amount takes a lot longer than you think and by the time you get it, it's not worth what it was when you started. So. You do what you have to do.'

Garibaldi felt old. He'd seen too many like this. Andrew was little more than a boy and he was doomed already. 'I'm sorry I didn't recognise you-'

'Don't be. I'm glad you didn't. It means that Andrea isn't the only thing I am.' He paused. 'I have a degree in philosophy, you know. Only it turns out that it isn't really something you can make a career of and it doesn't give you many marketable skills.' He smiled again, wistful. 'I should get going. Thanks for seeing me.'

'Hey, no, thanks for helping.' Garibaldi held out his hand. Andrew hesitated for a moment, then took it. 'Good luck, Mr Meyer.'

He watched the boy go and remembered something that an old soldier, father of a big family, had once said to him: kids, they break your heart.

ooOOoo

With as little warning as there had been when they arrived, the security teams that had been patrolling Downbelow left. The spot-checks were ended; even some of the extra restrictions on outbound vessels were eased, though not entirely lifted. As always, conjecture marked the event. From his regular position at the bar in the Zocalo, Londo Mollari watched and wondered about the reasoning behind this. But he had done his part and he no longer considered it any of his concern; even so, he still raised his glass and silently wished Sheridan good luck.

John had spent most of the day in his office; he had made a brief foray to the command deck, an attempt to keep some sense of normality. That attempt had been futile. People avoided looking him in the eye; they didn't know what to say. Corwin had given him a status report, delivering the whole thing to somewhere in the middle of Sheridan's chest. In the end he had left them. It was like Anna all over again and he remembered with unusual cynicism the lesson he had learnt then. The conversations that suddenly petered out when you walked into a room; the looks that seemed to go right through you. The bereaved were pitied but they were also an embarrassment. A reminder of all of the things that people didn't want to think about.

He went back to his paperwork and stayed there even after the station lights had been turned down for the night. A light tap attracted his attention; he peered across the gloom between his desk and the light in the doorway. She was just a silhouette, the light picking out the apex of her crest like a diadem.

'If you would rather I left...' Delenn was already angling away, preparing to go.

'No, please.' He stood quickly, catching his knee on the edge of the desk and winced. 'Please, come in.' It was a mess, he realised. The desktop covered in half-read reports and things that he didn't remember signing but evidently had. It hadn't looked that bad since his first weeks there; he'd been at it most of the day and had actually got very little done. He guided Delenn across to the sofa by the window, sat opposite her.

Her hands were clasped in her lap, her back erect. Shoulders too set. If it had been anyone else he would have said that she seemed uneasy.

'Are you okay?' he asked softly.

Delenn's eyes widened a little. 'Me? I believe that I am the one who should be asking that of you.'

She held his gaze, no embarrassment there.

'Oh, you know...' He shrugged. 'It's hell.'

'Yes.' She withdrew, momentarily, then found his face again. 'Mr Garibaldi came to see me; he explained to me your idea.'

'What do you think?'

Delenn considered her words. 'It is an interesting approach. But I believe that you are correct in thinking that it will disturb him. The Rangers have started their patrols, they will keep a close watch. As soon as they see anything, they will tell me.'

Sheridan nodded. 'Thank you.' He released a long breath. 'You know, I feel like I'm playing a game with Elizabeth's life and I- I don't know what else to do. I know what I want to do: I want to rip the whole damn place apart until I find her. And I want to kill him and I hate feeling that way. I-' He stopped and for that moment his face was unguarded, emotions raw. 'I keep seeing her, imagining what she must be going through, how ... terrified she must be and all I can think about is that last night, when he took her, I was-'

'You were with me.' Her voice was level, almost toneless.

He started, examined her. She was still watching him and she seemed resigned to something. 'No. God, Delenn, no; I didn't mean- If I hadn't been with you I still would have been here or in my quarters or God knows where, but anywhere except for where Liz was. Where I should have been. I was so busy worrying about people who were already dead, I forgot about the ones who are still living.' His face softened and the shadow of a smile played at his lips. 'To be honest, I've been thinking that just for once it would be nice if you and I got to spend some time together that wasn't in the middle of some crisis or wasn't immediately spoilt straight after.'

'Yes. It would be ... nice.' She was silent for a moment, studied her hands; they loosened and when she looked up again her eyes held that shine he had come to know. 'You should not take so much of this on yourself. There is no possibility that you could have known what was going to happen. There was no reason to think that it might.'

'Yeah, maybe.' He loosened the collar on his jacket, pulled the zip down a little. 'I spoke to her husband earlier; I had to tell him what had happened. And it was only then- It's something that's been in the back of my mind these last few days and now…'

Delenn waited for him but his gaze had slipped past her, seeing somewhere else. 'Now, what?' she prompted gently.

John roused himself. 'Why was Liz here?'

She looked at him in confusion. 'I do not understand. I thought that Liz had come to visit you.'

'The day after Christmas? It's still quite a big deal for Humans; it's a family time, you try to stay together.'

'But you are her family, are you not?'

His head tilted. 'Well, yes. But she's got two young kids. Her boys. For her to arrive when she did, she would have had to leave home before Christmas Day and that's just not like her. Mothers don't leave their kids at that time of year unless they have to and Liz... She wouldn't, not unless there was something wrong.' He ran it over in his mind. Seeing her, the way her face had lit up when she had seen him. 'I couldn't believe she was here; I was happy. And then I was so busy worrying about what I was involved with here that I never even thought more about it. I didn't think to ask her.'

Her voice was soft, trying not to intrude. 'Did she appear to be in distress?'

'No. She was laughing.' He ran a hand through his hair; there was a note of bitterness in his voice. 'Then again, I saw so little of her that I wouldn't have noticed. Hell, I forgot she was even here half the time.' His lips compressed, the tick in his jaw visible. When he spoke again his voice was softer. 'Once, when we were kids, we were on holiday, I don't remember where exactly but there was this big barn. We used to go there to play. I remember I used to climb up to the highest beam, it ran all the length of the ceiling, and I then I'd jump off so I could land in the straw beneath. Of course, being a kid, I immediately got up and did it again. Liz wanted to have a go. She always wanted to do whatever it was that I did. But I wouldn't let her.' He laughed at himself, rueful. 'Probably because I didn't want my little sister doing all the stuff that I could. Anyway, I got bored, finally, and wanted to go, but Liz didn't. Instead of making her come with me, or staying with her to make sure she was okay, I left her in there. I wasn't that far away when I heard her cry out. She'd jumped off that damn beam and hurt herself. She broke her arm, in two places, and it wouldn't have happened if I'd been there for her. That day I made a promise to myself that I would take care of her, protect her, that she wouldn't get hurt as long as I was with her. I should have looked after her while she was here, and I didn't. I left her alone because I was too busy thinking about myself. What kind of brother, what kind of person, does that make me?'

'John.' Her throat felt tight, pressure building behind her eyes. It hurt to see him like this: someone who was always so strong now so helpless. 'It makes you the same as the rest of us – imperfect.' She shook the hair away from her shoulders, leaned forward to him. 'You did not, as you say, abandon her; and you did not leave her because you did not wish to be with her or for any selfish reason. You had to go because you were called and because you were working to protect everyone. You wished for justice, did you not? for the victims? And to prevent anyone else, any other woman here, from suffering that same fate: at the time that included Elizabeth. Whether you realise it or not, you were still trying to protect her. It is true that you may have been ... distracted ... but none of us can see clearly all of the time.'

The room was almost entirely in shadow. A pool of light at the desk he had left, another where they were seated. And the one thing that he could see clearly was her face. Sheridan leant across, took one of her hands in both of his.

'I always seem to be burdening you with my problems, and you always seem to have the right thing to say. You must be tired of it by now.'

So many things that she wanted to say to him, but, as he had said, it never seemed to be the right time. He cradled her hand in his and her skin burned under that touch. 'For Minbari, it is considered a privilege that another will speak to you of that which troubles their soul. You do not burden me; you honour me.'

'I think I'm the one who's honoured.'

It was a forerunner of the many vigils they would keep together through the years, those minutes where they sat in silence.

'You should get some sleep.'

'I suppose so.' Sheridan stood reluctantly. 'So should you – it's been a long day.' He glanced over at the open files and her gaze followed his. 'I'll probably stay on a little longer – finish off.'

She nodded, silent, not trusting herself not to say the words that hammered in her head, forcing their way to her mouth. They faced one another awkwardly, until Delenn finally moved to leave.

'Delenn.' He couldn't stop himself.

'Yes?' Only a step away from him, less, and Delenn turned back.

Stay, he thought suddenly. Stay with me tonight and every night. The words did not reach his lips. It was too soon; one day, maybe... Instead he told her, 'I just wanted to say … thank-you. For everything.'

'There is no need. I was glad to help.' She paused. She was so close to him that he was certain he could feel her breath against his lips. 'Goodnight.'

When John finally returned to his quarters it was with the expectation that sleep would not come; or if it did, it would be a mockery of that state. But he had to try, he told himself, even if it was only a little while. A few hours and he'd be back on duty.

Sleep did come, after a fashion. He saw Elizabeth, just as he had seen her all day. In pain, in the dark and needing him. He walked through corridors, opening endless doors but he could never get to her. She cried out, screamed with the pain and everything shifted slightly. It wasn't Elizabeth, it was Delenn – surrounded by light like fire and he couldn't reach her. She stood, unbreakable, a storm in her eyes but he was losing her. Helpless. A voice in the shadows and that _tap-tap-tap_ of a cane on the floor. He had come too late. He would always be too late.

He woke, sweating, the sheets wrapped around him like a shroud. He freed himself, sat on the edge of the bed. Delenn. It always came back to her. Everything. And still, even now, in the middle of all of this, his senses, raw, sought her through the walls of the station. For a moment he could see her so clearly it was as though she were there, beside him, dark hair spread across bare shoulders and his pillows.

Only a few more hours and he would be back on duty.

He dressed, made his way to the sports area and spent the rest of the night smashing the baseballs into submission.


	8. Chapter 8

_December 29_

Garibaldi had started measuring his days and nights by how many cups of coffee he got through. He wasn't even on duty yet and the count was already two. Caffeine and adrenaline: a new addiction and not by choice. Sometimes he thought he'd do almost anything for just one quiet day and came to the conclusion that he no longer knew what he would do with such a luxury. Following his daily ritual, he headed for the security suite before doing anything else and found Delenn waiting patiently outside the door.

'Ambassador.'

She inclined her head.

'You're up early.' It was barely half-past six. She should still be asleep, surely. _He_ should still be asleep.

'For Minbari, this day is one of prayer and fasting. I was due to lead some of my caste in the rituals.' She paused. 'I have sent Lennier in my place.'

Sounded like a fun gig, he thought, and a wholly unnecessary explanation. The only time Delenn ever came to this particular area of Blue Sector was on official business and certainly never at this hour. Requests for extra security details for visiting dignitaries and that was about it. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a conversation with her that was not concerned with some sort of protocol and felt sudden regret at that. Understanding one another's ways was not always easy and she was far more ... aristocratic ... than he normally felt comfortable with but he had enjoyed their talks together. And now she looked as close to agitated as he had ever seen her. News from the Rangers, perhaps. Delenn glanced up and down the corridor, turned her eyes to him appealingly.

'Please, come on in.'

One officer sat over the consoles, eyes almost closing as the end of her shift approached. Garibaldi took pity on her, sent her back to her quarters. She thanked him blearily, barely seemed to notice the Minbari ambassador standing in the corner.

Delenn sat at Garibaldi's invitation. Darkened skin under her eyes, he noted, and she was pale. He waited for her to begin.

Her voice was firm, chin raised. Her eyes glittered. 'I was preparing to leave my quarters – as I told you, today is an important one for Minbari, especially the Religious Caste. When I opened my door I found this outside. I do not know how long it had been there, but it was not there last night.'

He hadn't noticed it in her hand, she had held it so tightly. A plain white envelope. She leant forward, tilted it, carefully emptying the contents onto the desktop. They slid out with a delicate chink, glittered in the light. A fine chain with a pendant.

'It belongs, I believe, to Elizabeth Sheridan; she was wearing it when I saw her.'

Garibaldi stared at the necklace, slowly raised his eyes to hers. The lines of her face were hard, impassive. 'Was there anything else with it?'

'No.'

'Okay.' He sat back. 'Okay. I'll arrange a security detail and-'

'No.'

'What?'

'I said no.'

Garibaldi stared at her. 'Look, Ambass- Delenn-'

'I will not be intimidated by that man.' She glanced, scornful, at the calling-card that had been left for her.

It was subtle: the slightly raised pitch of her voice, the flash of her eyes. Any intimidation, Michael thought, came from her side of the table. He had often heard it said, both by and about the Minbari, that understanding was not required, only obedience. He had the distinct impression that that kind of blind acceptance of orders was not something to which Delenn was accustomed, despite her heritage. 'Please, just listen to me. This whole thing has already been made real personal. For whatever reason this guy has decided to make John his sparring partner: he's already gone after his sister, maybe he's decided to widen the net; and it's not exactly a secret that you and John are...'

'Friends?'

Some friends, he thought. 'Yes, friends.'

Delenn fixed her eyes on his and he couldn't have looked away even had he wanted to. 'Do you truly believe that this is a threat?'

Garibaldi hesitated. 'A threat... No, probably not. A taunt? Yes. But is it really worth the risk?'

Delenn was silent for a moment; then, 'I understood from what you told me yesterday that your approach, at this moment, is not to give this man – Hendrickson? – what he wants. Correct? Surely, by seeming to ignore this,' her hand gestured dismissively, 'that would be following your current thinking.'

He sighed. 'Yeah, I guess.' The chances were that Hendrickson would not dare move against Delenn. He would be risking the wrath of the Minbari government, not just the station personnel. Not just Sheridan. 'All right. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do anyway. But I can ask, with all due respect, that I have a copy of your itinerary and that you don't go anywhere beyond Green Sector on your own.'

Delenn considered this, finally inclined her head. 'Very well. I will instruct Lennier to send you a copy of my schedule.' She paused. 'The Rangers-'

'Any messages that need to be passed along can go through the captain or me.'

She paused again. 'That is acceptable.'

'Well, thank God for that.'

Delenn smiled a little; it faded when she looked down at the necklace. 'It was a gift,' she said softly, 'from her sons. Elizabeth has two children.'

Garibaldi could feel his skin prickling, shifted awkwardly. 'I know. I, uh, I'm surprised that you brought this to me.'

She looked back up at him, blank at first. 'As the Chief of Security, I believe that this would fall under your...' She searched for the word. 'Jurisdiction?' He nodded. She repeated it, mastering it. 'Jurisdiction. I felt that it was the wiser course to bring it to you.'

Her eyes asked for understanding. What was it about John Sheridan, Garibaldi wondered vaguely, that made all of these people, himself included, want to protect him?

'I'll have to tell the captain about this.' He studied her for a moment – not a flicker. 'That doesn't mean that I have to tell him exactly where and how it was found; but if he asks outright I won't be able to lie to him.'

She looked almost puzzled. 'I have neither thought nor suggested that you should.'

He suppressed a bark of laughter. 'Right.' Across the desk, they watched one another and then she smiled again, only a little, and prepared to leave. Garibaldi stood, moved to the door to allow her out. When she had gone he pulled evidence bags from a drawer, picked up the necklace with a pen and dropped it into one. Delenn had left the envelope and, still with the pen, he chased it across the metallic surface into a separate bag.

And now, he told himself, all hell would break loose.

ooOOoo

On the surface, it seemed to be one of those quiet days: a rarity much valued by everyone from the Command Staff down. A respite from the continual crises and minor disasters. Business as usual in the Zocalo – in Downbelow, too, for that matter. The Rangers were everywhere, watching everything, even if no-one realised that they were there.

And, somewhere, Hendrickson was also watching.

As Garibaldi walked through the corridors he felt that strange prickling between his shoulder blades – sometimes even glanced back, half-expecting to see a figure slinking away around a corner. There was never anything and he knew it was just the tension. Just the tension. It was everywhere. The air was heavy with it and everyone he passed had that suspicious, nervy look.

Garibaldi headed for Sheridan's office and when he entered he wondered if the man had actually taken a break at all: he was still sitting in the same position as when Garibaldi had left him the evening before.

He sat opposite him, inspected him. Sheridan returned the gaze apprehensively.

'What?'

'Did you get any sleep last night?'

Sheridan grunted. 'Enough.'

'Uh-huh. You look like hell.'

'Yeah, well, I feel like it, too.' He stretched out his shoulders, easing the knots in his neck. 'You know, I hope that the tension is getting to our buddy Hendrickson as much as it is to me. In the light of day my brilliant idea doesn't seem quite so brilliant.'

Garibaldi raised an eyebrow. 'This really is getting to you. You have noticed that we don't actually get the light of day up here?'

'Is this you trying to make me feel better?'

'Are you saying that my people skills need some work?'

'More than somewhat.'

They could dance around it all day, but it would still have to be done. Garibaldi opened the file he had brought with him, took out the photograph. 'I have to show you something and ask if you can identify it. Okay?'

Sheridan's frame stiffened almost imperceptibly, but suddenly he was closed. Cold. He held out a hand.

Garibaldi leant across, handed him the photograph and waited. There was nothing in Sheridan's face, not even a sign that he knew what he was looking at.

'Do you recognise it?'

'Yes. It's Elizabeth's.'

'Are you sure?'

'Of course I'm sure.' Just for a second his voice was rougher. 'Where did this come from?'

'The chain and pendant were handed in to me this morning.'

Sheridan put down the photograph, one hand resting on top, covering it. 'Handed in? Who by?'

Garibaldi shrugged it off. 'It doesn't matter.'

'Oh?'

It was not when he lost his temper that Sheridan was truly dangerous, Garibaldi realised. It was now, when he was like this – that controlled iciness. Then he was capable of almost anything.

'Look, the person who brought it in can't tell us anything else. It was left where it would be found.'

Sheridan moved his hand, looked down at the photograph again. The chain had been laid out neatly following the line of a ruler. Very clinical, very professional. 'I suppose that it's with forensics now.'

'Yeah. I doubt that we can get anything off it. So far Hendrickson has been very careful not to leave any physical evidence behind and, quite frankly, I don't know what good it would do us even if we could get a DNA sample from it. I mean, we already know who he is.'

'Yes. But he just wants to play with us.' His eyes wandered over the fine links again, stark against the darker background. 'Liz loves this necklace. I don't think she's taken it off since she got it. Her boys saved up their pocket money for months until they could buy it.' He pushed the photograph away.

Garibaldi retrieved it, placed it back in the folder.

'We wanted him to come to us.'

The captain was looking past him. 'I know.' Silence. 'It was Delenn, wasn't it?'

Garibaldi swore inwardly, looked up. Sheridan had folded his hands on top of the desk. 'What was?'

'It was Delenn who found it.'

There was no point in trying to evade it. Garibaldi tossed the file back onto the desk, a silent concession. Sheridan was silent, released a breath slowly. When he spoke his tone was level.

'It makes sense, I suppose. She is his type - dark hair, slim, she's young enough. Delenn fits the profile, doesn't she?'

Garibaldi was uneasy. 'John-'

'Doesn't she?'

He was far too calm. Garibaldi had seen that kind of stillness before, that containment, the sort where someone is barely holding on and it takes very little for them to let go. And it usually came right before the sort of explosion that took everyone else down with it. It was a moment before Garibaldi spoke again, cautiously. 'Yeah, I guess she does.'

Sheridan nodded. 'What security have you put in place?'

And now it would start. 'I didn't. Delenn didn't want any.'

'I see.' Words hard as bullets. 'And you decided that this was a good idea, huh? Tell me, what exactly is it you think a security chief does? Or is this your way of telling me you don't want to do your damn job anymore?' He stood suddenly, chair rocking against the floor. 'Dammit, Michael, you know what he's capable of. What the hell were you thinking?'

Garibaldi remained seated. Ordinarily he wouldn't take those sorts of accusations; ordinarily it would turn into a knock-down drag-out. Strange to be the rational one for once, even if it was only for a little while. All of this was far from ordinary. 'Okay, you can chew me out or you can listen. Which one do you want?' Don't push too hard, he reminded himself, just enough.

The captain was silent; for a moment his hands gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles were white. He sat slowly. 'Well, let's hear it.'

'Delenn's a two-for-two,' Garibaldi said. 'Hendrickson wants your attention, he's got it; he wants you distracted, he's got that too; and now he's got it all over again. We haven't reacted the way he wanted so he's gone to the one other person he knows you're close to.' Only then was there a flash in those hazel eyes. A warning, perhaps. Garibaldi ignored it. 'If he'd wanted to hurt her, he wouldn't have let us know about it. Yeah, he knows where to find her and he wants us to know that he knows. But everyone here can find out that information, all they have to do is look it up in the directory.'

'But not everyone can get into Green Sector. Not everyone can walk right up to her door.' The words were forced past the roughness in the back of his throat.

Garibaldi paused. 'No.' But if someone were determined enough, all bets were off. 'We've gone over security vids between the time Delenn returned to her quarters last night and she found the package this morning. It's a window of about six hours, maximum; the only people who passed through in that time were the cleaning crew and we're talking to them.'

Sheridan rubbed the bridge of his nose.

'No-one who even resembles Hendrickson showed up on any of the feeds; he probably bribed one of the cleaners to leave the package outside her door, spun them a line about it being some romantic gesture or something.' A pause. 'Are you still listening?'

'Yes.' He shifted in his chair. 'Yes, I'm listening. I still don't like it.'

Garibaldi raised his hands; they dropped heavily into his lap. 'I hear you. I'm not crazy about it myself but our Ambassador Delenn is not an easy lady to argue with.' A flicker around Sheridan's mouth. 'And she's not stupid, she's not going to be taking any risks. I have her schedule, I know where she'll be every second of the day and I'll be checking, trust me. So. Is this okay now?'

Sheridan's fingers drummed against the desktop. He had never believed in dreams coming true, but nightmares... His nightmares, it would appear, were being made all too real. Elizabeth, Delenn. If either of them were hurt he'd track Hendrickson down and tear his heart out.

'No, it's not okay but it looks like I'll just have to live with it.'

The tension hadn't gone but had, at least, eased. Garibaldi looked him over. 'Why don't we get out of here for a while? If you sit in that chair much longer you'll get roots.'

Sheridan managed a smile, acquiescing. As they passed through the doorway he briefly clapped a hand on Michael's shoulder.

After the silence of Sheridan's office, the buzz of the Zocalo jarred in their ears. Sheridan usually enjoyed it – a microcosm of the galaxy squeezed into a few square feet. Always something new to see, new stories to hear. Today it was sinister. There were too many places to hide and he suspected every face he saw.

They wandered through the stalls, largely in silence, occasionally answering the greetings called out as they passed. Both men started when a voice spoke directly behind them, turned sharply; Garibaldi's hand moved to his holster. The thick-set young man blinked at them benignly, oblivious to Garibaldi's fingers twitching over his PPG and the captain's nervy stare.

'Tony, isn't it?' Garibaldi asked, relaxing.

The young man grinned in response, pushed the hair out of his eyes. He looked all of eighteen.

'He's Mario's nephew,' Garibaldi continued to Sheridan, jerking his head back towards a stall they had passed a few moments before.

'Oh.' Sheridan eyed Tony. 'Something we can do for you?'

He seemed delighted in being asked. 'Oh no, sir. But this guy, he's asked me to bring you this, so I've brought it.' He wiped one of his hands against his trouser leg, took something from his other hand and held it out to the captain.

Sheridan took it, glanced at Garibaldi. A data-crystal.

'What guy?'

Tony looked at Garibaldi, startled, the smile starting to fade as the idea came, slowly, that something was not right. 'I dunno, he's just some guy.'

'Where is he? Dammit, Tony.' He grabbed the boy by the collar, shaking him. 'Where is he?'

'Take it easy, Michael.'

Sheridan's hand was firm around his arm, pulling him off. Tony's eyes were wide – surprise and now fear.

'Did I do something wrong?'

'No, no you didn't. Can you tell me what he looked like? the man who gave you this?'

His face creased; he looked at Sheridan helplessly.

'His hair – was it dark? Like yours?'

'No, no, it was lighter. Kinda like you but shorter.' The massive shoulders rose and fell. 'He's just some skinny guy. Anyways, it was a while back, like, twenty minutes.'

Garibaldi ran a hand over his head. 'Twenty minutes, Jeez...'

Tony watched him nervously. 'My Uncle Mario, he's got customers.'

'Okay. It's okay. Thanks for bringing this to me.'

'Sure. Sure thing, uh, no problem. My Uncle Mario, he says you to come by the stall some time.'

'I'll do that.'

Sheridan watched Tony slide back through the crowd, probably bent on telling his Uncle Mario about his adventure. His hand had closed around the crystal so tightly it bit into the flesh of his palm.

'Twenty minutes.' Garibaldi shook his head. 'If that damn idiot had come to us sooner-'

'It wouldn't have made any difference. Hendrickson would have been gone the second he gave Tony the crystal.' He turned to him. 'It's not his fault, Michael.'

Garibaldi's head tilted. 'You seem very relaxed about this.'

Sheridan smiled stiffly. 'I'm trying to learn patience.'

Maybe the lessons with Kosh were paying off, Garibaldi thought. Or maybe it was someone else.

'I'll call Susan and Stephen.'

'Are you sure you want everyone there while you watch that?'

John was silent for a moment, slowly prised his fingers open and stared down at the inoffensive object. Part of him didn't want to know, didn't want to see what it contained. If he didn't see he could still pretend that she was all right.

'You'll all end up seeing it one way or another. Probably best to get it over with.'

ooOOoo

Stephen Franklin read the lines in the report, raised his eyes long enough to key in some data, bent his head again. One hand reached out, groping towards the cup of coffee standing on his desk.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you.'

He started, looked around and found Yuki standing close by. She leant across, dipped a finger into the liquid and wrinkled her nose.

'Thought so – it's stone cold.'

He stared at the cup. 'I think I got that over an hour ago. He stood and she moved towards him, stopping when there was still a respectable distance between them. 'Hi.'

She smiled. 'Hi.'

'I'm sorry I had to run out on you like that, I just-'

'Stephen, it's fine. What did you think I was going to do? Come in here and beat you around the head?' She sat down on his side of the desk. 'Although, I do have a voodoo doll of you, so if you get a shooting pain later in the day, don't worry – it's just me sticking pins in it.'

His face warmed, some of the stress lines easing. 'I think I preferred it when you were sedated.'

She laughed, eyes crinkling. 'Smooth-talker. I...' Her eyes dropped momentarily and he could have sworn colour flushed her cheeks. 'I really enjoyed last night.'

'So did I.' He took her free hand, his thumb running gently across the smooth back. 'And I really am so sorry.'

'And it really is fine. I had things to do myself.'

Stephen sat back. 'Things for Delenn?' Her involvement with the Minbari was not the way she had explained it, of that he was certain. And he shouldn't ask, he was also certain of that, but he couldn't stop himself.

She shifted on the hard chair; her lips twitched a little and her eyes didn't leave his. 'Some things. Other things as well.'

'And this is the moment where I back off and stop asking questions, huh?'

Yuki moistened her lips. Sometimes she thought it was easier for Minbari: all those rituals and traditions, everything considered so deeply and everything ordered. They believed it to be necessary, she knew. They were a passionate people and ritual helped to keep those passions in check. There was no messiness, no complication. Nothing like this. There was a lot to be said for Minbari restraint: their relationships developed over time, not this headlong plunging that was so ... Human. And it was all her own fault – she had walked into it with her eyes wide shut and dragged Stephen along with her. She disliked lying to him, she had discovered. Ordinarily it didn't bother her. Rangers were true in their calling, pure of heart and she was all of those things; subterfuge was a necessary protection and she enjoyed it at times. The sort of mystery she had always loved as a child. Sometimes she even enjoyed it too much, seeing how far she could push some ridiculous tale, much to her instructor's despair. But not with Stephen.

'I'm not involved with anything bad,' she said eventually. 'I've told you what I've told you and- I can't say more than that. Maybe one day I'll be able to. I hope I can, and soon, but until then... I wouldn't do anything wrong; you do know that, right?'

'Yes, I know. I do know that.'

She nodded, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. It was her turn to scrutinise him and she took the time, eyes wandering slowly. She wasn't entirely happy with what she found. 'You look like you could do with a break.'

'I'm fine.'

His tone was a little sharper, his chin rising slightly. He wasn't as good a liar as she was.

Stephen relaxed again. 'Believe me, there's nothing I'd like more than to take some time out. Nothing I'd like more than to take you out, for that matter, but...' He looked pointedly at his desk.

'Mm. I always forget how much paperwork is involved.' He hadn't tried to conceal what the papers were, hadn't closed the file when she had sat down. Some of them looked like forensic reports rather than medical forms. 'Even so,' she smiled again, 'I was expecting to find you sticking a tube down someone's throat at the very least. Do you mind my asking what you're working on?'

There was a moment's hesitation. He chose his words carefully. 'The lab has identified some trace elements, particulates, on some of the victims – it might help us to narrow the search parameters.'

'So, you might be able to work out where he is from this?'

'Maybe. I hope so.'

'Good.'

She was so different when she was serious, he thought. Those moods didn't seem to last long. Franklin would be the first to admit that he didn't know her very well but Yuki was clearly one of life's optimists. A happy person. But in those moments, like now, there was a surprising stillness in her, a quiet strength that changed every line of her face. He leaned forward again, took hold of her hand. 'Yuki. Whatever it is that you're involved in... Just promise me that you won't do anything stupid.'

'I can't afford to do stupid things.' She twined her fingers through his.

Franklin's link chimed and a flash of irritation crossed his face. He withdrew from her. 'Franklin. Go.'

'Stephen.' Sheridan's voice. 'I need you in my office.'

'Fine, I'm on my way.'

He held up his hands apologetically.

'You better go.' Yuki stood, placing her chair back where she had found it.

'Look, maybe we can meet later?'

Her hair had fallen across her face as she moved and she pushed it back as she straightened up, smiled again. 'Yes, maybe. If there's time.'

'There will be, I promise.'

She pursed her lips, sucked in a breath. 'Careful – you should never make a promise you might not be able to keep. I already warned you about your effigy.'

'You did at that.' He gathered up the reports and walked her to the doors. They parted outside MedLab and Yuki watched him make his way down the corridor. There was nothing more to keep her in Blue Sector. She moved quickly, by-passing the tubes, taking shortcuts across sectors until she reached Downbelow. No-one paid any attention to the slim, dark figure threading its way between the crowds. Yuki turned down a deserted side passage, swung herself onto a service ladder. She gritted her teeth, feeling the pull of stitches in her shoulder as she moved. It had only been through a combination of pleading and stubborness on her part that Delenn had allowed her to resume some of her duties. She reached the gantry, hidden from the view of those below but affording a view across the black market stalls. There was another figure already there, a stocky Minbari who did not stir as Yuki took her place next to him noiselessly.

'I had expected you sooner,' he commented some minutes later. His gaze across the crowds was unbroken.

'I was saying hello to a friend.' She shifted, the hard flooring making her more aware of her aches and bruises. They settled into silence.

'It was requested that I give you this.'

He pulled something out of his robes and still without looking at her passed it across. Yuki's hand closed around the familiar cylinder and she smiled into the semi-gloom. The denn'bok's weight felt comforting in her hand; she ran her fingers over the surface, checking for any damage. Only when she was satisfied did she attach it to her belt, feeling more herself with it resting snugly at her side.

'Delenn does not wish you to over exert yourself,' he told her when she was still again. There was concern hidden deep beneath the formality of his words.

'Don't worry, I'm just sitting here,' she murmured softly.

There was little light where they were. Out of the corner of her eye Yuki could just make out his profile. He raised his chin a little.

'I was not worried.'

She ducked her head, smiling. 'This could all be over soon, anyway. They may have information that can lead them to him.'

'Then another gleam of light will be reclaimed from the darkness,' he stated eventually.

Yuki sighed. 'That's what I love about you, Khati – your rapid verbal responses.'

And it would be another good ten minutes, she reflected, before he replied.

ooOOoo

Franklin reached the captain's office and found the rest of the command staff there grouped around the BabCom unit. He glanced at Ivanova; she shrugged in response.

'I was handed this in the Zocalo.' Sheridan held the crystal, placed it in the slot.

'Is that from who I think it's from?' Franklin folded his arms.

Sheridan nodded. 'We don't know what's on it yet.'

Ivanova looked at him, hard, uncertain they should be there; she caught Garibaldi's eye and remained silent.

Now or never, Sheridan thought, activating the crystal. There was a burst of static and then a man's face appeared on the screen. They all, unconsciously, leaned in a little, studying their quarry.

'He doesn't look much, does he?' Ivanova said softly.

'He isn't much,' Sheridan responded.

They had heard his voice before, that taunting message he had left for Sheridan. _'Do you know where your sister is, Captain? She isn't where you might think.' _They had seen his face. Photographs in the EarthForce records and the impression from Londo's description. The Centauri had been remarkably accurate. The forehead was a little higher, the eyes slightly further apart but the likeness was almost identical.

And he looked so ordinary, Susan thought. A pale, thin face; mid-brown hair cut short against his head; an acne scar on one cheek. It was only in the eyes - a strange intensity but even that was not particularly remarkable. He didn't blink much; she could feel her own eyes watering just watching him.

His voice was soft, monotonous; he seemed edgy, staring into the camera. '_Clever_,' he was saying, '_very clever. I knew, you see, when you came into Downbelow that you wanted to be part of this, that you wanted the challenge. And so did I. I knew that you wouldn't disappoint me there, and I was right … you know that, don't you? I was right. But how are you going to get her back, Captain? If I just bring her to you, where is the fun in that? You can't just take me on, make me change all the rules and then walk away before it's all over…'_

Hendrickson spoke slowly, as though it were a script he had practised before; there was a nervousness in his voice that belied his apparent control. And then came a long pause. His eyes narrowed slightly, head tilting. He seemed to be listening.

Sheridan was rigid; above the collar of his jacket the tendons in his neck stood out.

On the screen, Hendrickson nodded. _'You'd like to see her, wouldn't you? All right, I'll show her to you. Perhaps that will give you a little more incentive._'

He moved towards the camera and then disappeared; the picture wobbled and for a moment they had a view of dim recesses, a red light, and then Elizabeth Sheridan. Blindfolded, she sat awkwardly on the floor, one leg bent under her; she was against the wall, arms crossed behind her head and the chain that bound her wrists together ran across her throat.

'My God.' Ivanova pressed her lips together; she didn't want to see it and she couldn't look away.

'_Send a message to your brother.'_ Now that he was off-screen his voice sounded more commanding. Always happier in the shadows, Garibaldi thought.

Elizabeth shifted slightly; she tried to speak, gasped, tried again. Her words rasped when they came.

'_Johnny? Help me, please help me-' _The chain tightened across her neck, choking her. She coughed, tried to move her head back to get more air.

'_It isn't too bad as long as she doesn't talk.'_ That monotone again. The camera lurched and Elizabeth was lost from sight. Then Hendrickson reappeared. _'She'll be all right.' _Another of those disconcerting pauses. _'Yes, you're right. As she gets more tired, she won't be able to keep her arms up, and so the chain will get tighter and she will eventually strangle herself. But that will be your fault because you stopped looking.'_ His voice had started to shake: indignation at their - at Sheridan's - betrayal of him. _'She was your stake, and I accepted in good faith. If you walked away and left her it isn't my fault. I'm not responsible for what happens next.'_

He moved forward again, the screen flickered and the room was filled with the sound of white noise. Sheridan turned it off. There was a tremor in his hand.

Susan swallowed hard, her mouth thick. 'What do we do?'

'I think I know what area they're in.'

It was a moment before they looked at him and Franklin met the gazes with more calmness that he felt.

'You know what-' Ivanova's eyes blazed. 'Why the hell didn't you say that when you walked in?'

'I-' He set his shoulders, flicked opened the file. 'Look. These are the reports we got back from trace analysis. When I did the autopsy on Jerhann I found small traces of a fine metallic powder, some on his clothes and skin but not in the wounds and it didn't come from the area where he was found. The same particulates were also found on two of the other victims, uh-' He glanced down at the files. 'Tara Brady and Luisa Menendez. The traces were from lead. And that's only found in one place on the station.

Garibaldi blew out a breath. 'The fusion reactor core. Nobody ever goes down there unless there's some work being done on it. Hell, it's probably the one place we didn't look.' He paused. 'I get can get a team together. Half-an-hour, at the outside, and this is all over.'

Sheridan stared at a patch of floor. If he were not the captain, if it were not his sister. So much easier when it was just names and faces on reports – an abstract sympathy that had no connection to a personal reality. For her own safety he would condemn her to more hours alone in the dark. He raised his head. 'No. If we storm the place we don't know what he'll do or what we'll find.' He looked at Garibaldi, turned his attention on Ivanova and the doctor. 'There's no need for you both to be here. But... I'd like to thank you, both of you, for everything you've done the last few days. It hasn't been easy.'

'Are you sure?'

He was turning the crystal over and over between his fingers. The movement stopped. Susan's eyes were anxious and it wasn't something seen often; he managed a smile for her benefit. 'I'm sure. And you've both got better things to do.'

It was an obvious dismissal, even if it was couched in friendly tones.

'Right. Well, I'll be in C&C if you need me.' It was almost endearing, she reflected on her way out, the way that both men genuinely believed that they were successfully hiding things from her. She glanced at Franklin; he looked distracted - not uncommon. But when he met her eyes his frown deepened.

'Ever get the feeling that there's something going on you don't know about?

Her response was noncommittal.

Inside Sheridan's office there was silence until the echo of voices from the corridor had died away. Garibaldi unfolded his arms, put his hands in his pockets.

'You okay?'

The captain's skin looked stretched over the bones of his face. 'Ask me again tomorrow.' He moved across the office, distancing himself from the BabCom unit. Garibaldi followed him slowly.

'I'm guessing that you want the Rangers involved in this.' He paused. 'Whatever "this" is going to be.'

Sheridan lowered himself into his chair. ' "This" is fairly straightforward. And yes, I do. We need to get a lay of the land before we go in there. Now, I'm not saying that your people aren't up to the job. But the Rangers are trained to be covert, unseen. We know where to look now. Get them in there, get the information and then your people go in.'

Garibaldi ran it over in his head. 'Okay. We'll need the station plans, especially around the reactors. If we can cross-match the plans with what we get off that recording we'll be closer to pin-pointing the exact location.' He leaned back, his next words coming more slowly. 'Do you want me to talk to Delenn?'

'No.' Sheridan straightened some of the papers on his desk, nudging them a few millimetres to the left. 'No, I'll do it.'

Garibaldi's eyebrows were arched; he met Sheridan's gaze thoughtfully. He stood. 'I'll get the plans.'


	9. Chapter 9

Just one breath at a time.

It had not been as long as she thought it had; she kept telling herself that.

But it had felt like days. Weeks, even.

She was afraid when he was there; she was still afraid when he was gone. At least then she didn't have to listen, she couldn't hear his voice on and on... But it was dark and she was alone and she had always feared not being able to breathe.

One breath at a time.

It was always the first sign of when she was under stress, even when she was a child. That feeling of not being able to get enough air. Like her lungs were filling with water. Slowly suffocating, no matter what she did.

If she tilted her head back, it wasn't so bad. Shallow breaths, every few seconds. It was making her light-headed, making her limbs heavy. She had even fallen asleep, or almost fallen asleep, once, just for a moment. Her head had fallen forwards and the chain was tight across her throat.

Another breath.

She tried to ignore the pain in her shoulders. The muscles were starting to burn, joints twisted back unnaturally and she was so tired. The fabric, heavy, across her face almost covered her nose, blocked out all light.

The loudest sound was her own breathing. Noisy, laboured.

Fear had become more than a feeling. It was something that she could taste, that she could smell. It was there, with her, at every moment, its grip there in the pit of her stomach. She had never been afraid of the dark, only the things that could happen in it.

Now it was dark; and now she was afraid.

Her fingers were almost numb. She moved them feebly, could feel them, cold as ice, brushing against the sides of her neck. Beads of sweat rolled down her back. Her shirt was clinging to her. She was cold but she was still sweating. And so thirsty. There was a coating in her mouth – thick, metallic.

Keep your head back; try not to move. Shallow breaths, no more than that.

She hated being closed in. Cramped spaces, even when she could see a way out, gave her that feeling of being choked. She couldn't see and she couldn't breath and she didn't want to die. Not like this. Not in the dark.

One more breath. Forget the pain.

He would come. John would come. He had never let her down and he wouldn't now. She had to stay strong for that; she had to be ready; she would hold on.

Just one breath at a time.

ooOOoo

It was a relatively short journey from Blue Sector to Green. Sheridan mapped it in quick, precise strides. He tried to think of it as just another strategy. There was an objective and they would meet it. They had been presented with a problem and they had found, in theory, a solution to it. It was simple that way, it was neat. It was painless.

That, too, was in theory.

Two Minbari came towards him and he stood aside to let them pass. They glanced at him, the head of one moving slightly in acknowledgement. It was not a complete cessation of hostility – he could still see it sometimes in some of their faces – but there was a difference now. More tolerant, more accepting of him. Of all the unexpected things he had found in this place, that was just one of them. Not the most unexpected.

He stared at her door and wondered if he truly had the right to feel the way he did.

Sheridan pressed the chime and waited. He pressed it again and was only admitted when he had confirmed his identity. She was at least not taking any chances. He stopped just inside the door, taking in the surroundings. Lennier was not there and he noted the absence with surprise and a sudden anger that he bit back.

'You're alone?'

Delenn's hands were loose at her sides; she stood, immovable, her eyes calm holding his. 'Yes. Lennier is attending to his other duties.'

'I see.' His chin lifted, hands clasping behind his back. All those unspoken lines: some that could be crossed and some, perhaps, that could never be. And his own reaction seemed, even to him, almost primitive. Guard her; keep her out of sight, out of harm; lock her away where no-one could touch her. All the things he knew she would hate. And he had no right.

Sheridan told her the story – the message, Stephen's news – and as he spoke he saw reflected in her face all the things he had felt – anxiety tinged with horror, relief, and a sort of cautious hope.

'It is good news.'

'Yes, it is.'

'I am glad.' She paused. 'You did not need to ask my permission to use the Rangers – they are under your command as much as they are mine.'

'I know, but, well that's rather the point of a joint command, isn't it? We both know what's going on.'

Her smile was not as easy as usual; there was a reticence behind her eyes. 'There is not always such ... openness ... in leadership, I have found. With Minbari even when there are only two groups, both working towards the same end, they do not always tell each other what they are doing.'

There was a flash of wry amusement. 'Sounds familiar. It's something that a lot of people, especially politicians, seem to live by back on Earth; we even have a saying for it – never let the left hand know what the right hand is doing.'

Delenn ducked her head for a moment. He watched her, the light catching her hair, the faint curl of her lips.

'Why did you go to Michael? Why didn't you come to me?'

Her head was raised quickly; she was wordless.

'Don't look at me like that – you know what I'm talking about.'

'Yes, I know.' Unconsciously, one hand moved to cup the back of her neck.

She was strong, he reminded himself; in all ways, she was strong. But she looked so fragile at times, as though she would break if you took hold of her too hard.

'Well?'

'What is it you wish me to say?'

She had closed herself off from him, retreated somehow and what was left was something cool, professional. The face she wore in the council chambers, not the warmth he had become accustomed to when she spoke to him.

'I want to know why you kept this from me. After everything that's happened, everything we've gone through, you hide this?'

She should have known it would never work – that benevolent conspiracy. A conspiracy of light, she thought; and it had been with the best of intentions. The desire to spare the pain of one who was already in pain but it seemed that she was powerless to stop it.

'I was aware of what your reaction would be.'

'Oh, really. So, what? I can't be trusted to stay in control over this?' Behind his back his hands gripped tighter.

He always dominated any room he was in without even trying; he seemed to fill her quarters now. Neither of them moved.

'It is not a matter of trust.'

'Isn't it?'

'No, it is not. If it were, I could ask if you have no trust in my judgement or that of Mr Garibaldi.'

'That- That is not what I said, you know that. But you have no idea what this guy could be planning.'

'No, and neither do you.' Her voice had remained firm; only now did it soften. 'I did not wish to make this situation any worse.'

'And you think that this makes it better?' He could feel his chest vibrating; his eyes slipped from hers. Sheridan moved across the room, leaning both hands against the top of the counter. 'I'm sorry. You're the last person I should-' There was a faint crack – little more than an inch – running from the edge across the smooth surface. 'I'm not handling this very well, am I?'

Only the faint rustling of her clothes as she moved; he felt her rather than saw her when she stood at his side; the stillness she brought with her so great he could almost touch it.

'I do not believe that it would be possible to handle this well.' Even the most innocuous phrase was charming on her lips. 'I do not think that you are supposed to.'

'Maybe not.' John straightened, faced her. 'I hate the thought of something happening to you.'

It was the undercurrents of his voice more than his words; the melody behind them that even he was probably unaware of but that she could sometimes hear so clearly. 'I know that; but I am safe. I did discuss this with Mr Garibaldi and we were in agreement that there is no true threat; and Mr Allen has been in contact once every hour to confirm where I am and my safety.' Her eyes wandered over his face. 'However, if it will help to make you feel better, I will agree to a small security presence.'

The set of his shoulders relaxed; for a moment his hands rested on her arms. 'Thank-you.' He had told himself that he would not, again, burden her with all the things that he could not say to anyone else. But it was still happening and he had started speaking almost before he realised it. 'I don't know if it was worse when I didn't know what he was doing to her and only imagined it; or now, when I've seen what he has done to her. And he doesn't even need to do anything else – if he leaves her alone and we take too long to find her, she'll be dead anyway.'

'You will find her; she will be all right.'

'I wish I had your faith.'

Delenn had no words to offer him – they would, she knew, have been hollow however well meant. She raised a hand, the backs of her fingers brushing against the side of his face and she remembered the feel of his skin. 'I cannot imagine what this is like for you; I have tried, but I know that I cannot. But I- I wish that I could help you.'

He caught her hand, stopping its progress, holding it against his cheek; one finger slipped inside the tight cuff of her sleeve, rested against the soft skin over her pulse. 'You do help.'

There was melody in silence as well, Delenn thought. The air was heavy with it and she was conscious of a feeling as though she were about to release a breath that had been held for far too long.

The door opened suddenly and Lennier, seeing them, stopped, his eyes dropping to the floor. 'Forgive me, Delenn. Captain.'

'It's all right.' He kept hold of her until he had lowered her hand to her side. 'I shouldn't take up anymore of your time.'

Her fingers moved slightly, in brief contact with his. He stepped back.

Lennier edged in, his eyes darting up from his patch of carpet to Delenn's face, to Sheridan's back and then down again. The captain turned to leave, offered him a tight smile as he passed. The door closing behind him sounded unnaturally loud.

Lennier cleared his throat softly, keeping his head lowered but his gaze was on her. Delenn still stood by the counter, staring into the distance as though she could see through the walls.

'I am sorry; I had not realised-'

'It is no matter,' she murmured.

'I-I have the report you requested.' He moved to the sofa, continued his briefing and tried to pretend, for both their sakes, that he had not seen. It had been innocent, Lennier told himself; it had to have been. But there had been something frighteningly intimate about the way they had stood together. About the way Delenn had looked at him. 'The aide to the Drazi ambassador was most helpful...'

The words washed over her unheeded. It was not irritation; it was not even disappointment, just a sort of resignation. She longed to escape the confines of her quarters, her enforced immobility suddenly weighing heavier on her. It was not simply that, she had to admit. She had become used to it: being in confidence, the reliance on one another, the knowledge of something slowly being built out of the pieces they offered each other and she resented being parted from him now.

Delenn steadied herself. Such thoughts were pointless – there was nothing more that she could do. She focused on Lennier's quiet, precise words and tried to summon some enthusiasm for the work at hand. When she sat down Lennier fell silent.

She had not heard a word of it, he was certain; he watched her and found confirmation in her face.

'Do you wish me to repeat what I have told you?'

'Yes, if you would. I am sorry, I should have been listening.'

Lennier smiled, inclined his head, began again.

Delenn folded her hands in her lap and forced herself to listen to his words but she kept hearing the echo of a broken melody.

ooOOoo

From their elevated position above the crowds of Downbelow, Yuki and Khati still kept their watch. Faces started to blur after a while; it became almost like a game, finding ways to keep concentrating, to keep seeing the details. Anyone could keep looking but they had to keep seeing.

'It would appear that you were correct,' Khati stated softly. 'We have been recalled.'

Yuki shifted, her gaze following his. She was so close her chin almost rested on his shoulder, her breath warm against the side of his neck. As Rangers they were frequently in situations that required close proximity to one another - it was something that Humans were evidently more comfortable with than his own people. Khati did not move, not even when her hair - such a strange, soft thing - brushed his ear.

It was an innocuous figure when Yuki found him, sitting at one of the tables below them. He would be unnoticed by passers-by but his slight movements communicated necessary information to his two colleagues.

On the gantry they moved, gathering their cloaks tighter around themselves. Her foot had gone to sleep Yuki realised as she stood up; she staggered, sucking in a sharp breath. Khati grabbed her, holding her up.

'Thanks.'

He peered into her face. 'You should not have returned to your duties so soon.'

Her chin lifted. 'I'm fine.'

Humans were a frustrating race. They were stubborn; they were impulsive; they asked endless questions. Yuki Ogawa was no exception.

'You are hurt,' he informed her.

'No,' she corrected him, 'I have pins-and-needles in my foot. It'll go in a minute.'

He glanced down and in the dim light she could see his forehead wrinkle. She sighed.

'I mean- Never mind, I'll explain later. Come on.'

He inspected her one last time and when he reached her face again she grinned infuriatingly. Khati let go of her, heard her intake of breath as she started down the ladder. He swung himself after her; when they were both on the ground again they stood, looking each way along the corridor and only when they were happy that they were alone did they move. Their contact at the table had moved on and the pair separated as they made their way through the crowds. Khati, some paces behind, still watched all the faces he passed and kept Yuki's slim form on the periphery of his vision. She turned down another passageway; he followed only seconds later. He trailed her as they headed closer to Red Sector; she had the knack of making herself unobtrusive, he noticed; it was surprising in someone who usually managed to make her presence felt whenever she was in a room.

The air was a little fresher in this part of the station. More people in uniform but still plenty of civilians. They were just another two. Yuki had already turned off and he caught her up only moments later. They stood together at the back, Yuki craning her neck to see over the heads of the other Rangers. Khati recognised Michael Garibaldi, perched on the edge of the table in a corner. But it was not from him that their instructions were to be received; these were not messages being passed along. The orders were to be delivered by Sheridan himself. The captain's gaze swept over all of them, a quick appraisal, satisfying himself that everyone was there who should be. For a moment his eyes seemed to meet Khati's and the young Minbari straightened instinctively, energy crackling along his spine.

Next to him Yuki was similarly attentive, her face hard. One of her rare moments of seriousness. Her injuries would preclude her from any further involvement and she regretted that; but there was also a sense of satisfaction. Because as Sheridan started to speak she knew that soon it would be over.

ooOOoo

Zack placed his hands carefully, testing the area in front of him before trusting it to take his weight. Every time he crossed a joint in the tunnel he could feel it shift and separate under him; and he remembered all the complaints that maintenance always had: about how badly the place had been put together, about how sub-standard parts had been used in the first place... Usually he listened with half an ear before telling them to get lost. Not next time, he told himself. Next time he might just join in the fully justified tirades. If he made it through to the next time. At any second he'd go crashing through the damn thing. Metal ground together under him and he gritted his teeth. Even without that it was not easy to manoeuvre along the shafts. He crawled commando style, trying to make as little noise as possible. Zack felt a bead of sweat roll down one temple, then his cheek; it tickled, he shook his head sharply. The helmet felt too heavy on his head and his fatigues didn't fit any better than his regular uniform. One arm in front, dragging one side of his body along, then the next arm, the other side. Repeat. Over and over as he inched his way down the shaft.

Search and rescue - that was how it had been presented to him and the others. There seemed to be very little search involved: Garibaldi's orders had directed them to a very precise spot and Zack wondered where the chief got his information. Not for the first time.

He had too many other things to worry about to give that more than a passing thought. The shaft had narrowed and he pressed himself closer to the bottom, so constricted that mouthfuls of air could only be taken in short, shallow gasps. Under his helmet he could feel his hair slick with sweat.

Arm over arm. The toes of his boots slipped uselessly against the metal; he wriggled his shoulders, forcing himself forward. The target, there, ahead, just one more effort. A junction where two shafts intersected. There was enough room to pull himself up to sit cross-legged beside a rectangular grille; a crosswind and he took a deep breath, cleared his head. A faint scuffling from another shaft - Zack turned his head as one of his colleagues emerged and the new arrival joined him across the grille. They greeted each other with short, stiff-necked nods.

Zack pulled out a camera from one of his pockets; it was barely the size of a marble and the other officer held it carefully in the palm of one hand while Zack fiddled with the remote control.

'Are you getting the signal, Chief?' He barely moved his lips as he spoke, his whisper only just audible.

'Yeah, we can see you.' Garibaldi's voice came through the headset.

'Okay. I'm activating the infra-red.'

The camera rose into the air, hovered for a moment, then Zack sent it through the grille. He peered at the image beamed back to his monitor, adjusted the contrast until the details of the room were in sharp focus.

It was also seen on the monitor set up in a cramped room nearby. Sheridan and Garibaldi peered at it. When the reports had come back from the Rangers that they had located Elizabeth, the captain's first instinct had been to tell them to get her out. But there would be so many questions. How had she got away? How had they known where to look? And if Hendrickson came back and the Rangers took him down, Sheridan could hardly pass them off as convenient and good-hearted passers-by. Too many people would be exposed. It would have to be done properly, officially. It would take longer and he hated himself for it.

The camera wobbled around the room until it found her. She was slumped, her head back as far as it would go and her arms sagged.

'Is she breathing? I can't tell if she's breathing.'

'I don't know,' Garibaldi replied softly.

How many hours could she stay like that? It had been the thought that had been with Sheridan all day. How long before she was just too tired? How long would it take for that chain to strangle her? Liz was a fighter – strong-willed, a survivor. She would not give into this, not easily. But sheer exhaustion would wear her down. If they had got to her a few hours earlier, even a few minutes, it might have made a difference. He couldn't see if she was breathing. He should have sent in the Rangers and to hell with the consequences.

Sheridan closed his eyes for a moment, brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead irritably.

'He's not there.' Garibaldi's eyes followed every movement of the camera, took in every detail revealed. Empty water bottles, food cartons, even what looked like a heap of blankets, a roll of plastic sheeting. And then Elizabeth again. 'Okay, we can move in. There are only two ways in or out: I've got Emerson and de Vigny covering exit one, and Mangwane and Forrester on exit two. If he comes back we'll know; and we'll get him.'

'All right.' Sheridan straightened up. 'I'm coming with you.'

There was a flicker across Garibaldi's face but he was learning to pick his battles. 'Yeah, of course you are.' He glanced at Franklin and his two medics. 'You ready?'

The doctor nodded silently, gripping his equipment case.

Garibaldi released a breath, felt that familiar grip in the pit of his stomach. His father always used to say that being a cop was ninety-nine percent boredom and one percent fear. This was the one percent. But dad had never told him that with that fear came the excitement. He spoke softly into his headset. 'We're going in. I want you all extra-vigilant, you got it?'

'Copy that.'

Garibaldi turned back to Sheridan; the captain's eyes glittered. 'Okay. Let's go.'

They moved out silently, Garibaldi and Sheridan ahead, Franklin and his people behind, another three security in the rear. Quiet steps were drowned by the constant low hum of machinery. They moved slowly, still half-expecting to come face-to-face with the enemy despite all the precautions. A doorway just ahead: they passed two security officers hidden in the shadows, passed through the door and into the chamber. Two of the three men at the rear peeled away, one remaining at the entrance they had just taken, the other crossing to the second door, taking up position just inside.

Sheridan approached his sister's figure cautiously.

'Lizzy?'

Slight movement, her body shrinking further into itself: it was the reaction of fear, but seeing it brought such relief that for a moment he was paralysed.

'Lizzy, it's okay; it's me; it's John.'

Her lips parted; her chest was shaking, the tendons in her neck standing out. Her breath came, rasping.

He knelt next to her, taking the weight of her arms. The chain was heavy and she felt so fragile, like a bird, as he held her. Stephen Franklin, efficient and steady fingered, undid the blindfold.

Elizabeth squinted against the sudden light, everything a blur of faces and it was too much. The fabric of John's jacket scratchy against her face, hands releasing the choking pressure and his voice, reassuring, in her ear. Her throat constricted, tears trickling down her cheeks that she was powerless to prevent.

'We need someone over here to cut these chains.'

Heat close to her face; a fine laser cutting through metal. The tension around her throat increased, roaring in her ears and the pressure behind her eyes was unbearable. And then over.

Stephen pulled the chain away, dropped it to the floor. 'You have to give her some room.'

His professional voice and Sheridan moved back, staring wordlessly, his view of her face blocked by the medics leaning over her. Oxygen, fluids. Franklin delivered instructions, his voice low, firm and they responded immediately. Sheridan edged around them. One of Elizabeth's hands was moving feebly, fingers searching for something. He took it in his and she held onto him.

Garibaldi had stood back, watching the scene; his link chimed faintly.

'Chief, we've got someone coming.'

'Which way?'

'Number two, southside.'

'Okay.' He crouched next to Franklin. 'We've got to get her out of here. The way we came in. Go.'

John let go of his sister's hand. The medical team had lifted her onto a board; the rest stood back as they moved to the exit.

Silence then and Garibaldi could feel his heart thumping. The one percent. He gritted his teeth, glanced sideways; the look on Sheridan's face made him almost pity the man about to come through the door.

They had flattened themselves against the walls, listening for any sound over the hum of machinery. There was no sound, no footfalls, nothing until the figure was silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor.

Kyle Hendrickson took a few steps inside, clearing the doorway and only when he was inside did he stop, noticing, perhaps, that Elizabeth was gone. His head turned slowly, nostrils flaring as though testing the air. He found them in the dimness.

'Hey there.' Garibaldi's lips pulled back in a grin. 'Now.'

They closed in. Through the doorways, more crashing from the vents above. Zack caught him, the force of his drop forcing Hendrickson to the floor. It should have been enough to keep him down.

It was a frenzied fight, a confusion of limbs. One officer staggered back, blood streaming from a broken nose. Still they couldn't contain him and over all the yells the loudest were Hendrickson's as his struggle to escape grew more intense. Dull sounds of flesh pounding flesh and then the sickening, cracking sound of splintering bone.

Hendrickson wrenched himself free, just for a moment, just long enough to reach the metal panel; he kicked it aside, disappeared down the tunnel concealed behind it. Sheridan followed, ignoring Garibaldi's shouts. Michael swore violently, took off after him.

Whichever official was in charge of the official plans of the station was due a very bad day when Garibaldi got his hands on them; and when he got his hands on Sheridan...

Footsteps echoing down the tunnel, his own, drowning out anything else; he was bent nearly double, both arms outstretched to steady himself. Sheridan could only be a little ahead of him: every now and then Garibaldi caught a glimpse of a figure a few paces in front. There was a crash of metal, a square of light suddenly opening up only metres ahead.

Sheridan caught the metal sheet as it sprung back, slamming against it with his shoulder and spilled into the corridor. A young maintenance worker, backed rigidly against the opposite wall, stared at him, wild-eyed.

'Which way did he go?'

She pointed silently.

Running again, finally catching up with Hendrickson on a tight corner. Sheridan grabbed hold of him, spun him around, experienced a wave of satisfaction as he punched him, hard, on the jaw. Hendrickson sprawled against the opposite wall, recovered, charged at Sheridan, knocking his feet from under him. A kick in the stomach sent Hendrickson stumbling back again.

The captain was on his feet, hands flexed, ready for another assault; he caught the flash in his opponent's hand, blocked the blow. They grappled together. He heard the fabric of his uniform rip, didn't feel the blade against his skin. A final blow winded him long enough for Hendrickson to slip away from him.

He braced himself against the wall, pushed himself forwards. Around another corner. Sheridan saw Hendrickson disappear through a crack in a door that was slowly closing and a Waste Disposal Officer standing with a dazed, horrified expression on her face. The red light came on, the siren sounded, a rush of air from the other side of the door. The airlock had been opened, its contents jettisoned.

Sheridan moved to the window; Garibaldi arrived behind him, breathing hard.

'Where is he?'

'Out there,' Sheridan replied calmly.

Garibaldi stood next to him, watched with a strange mixture of dispassion and revulsion the slowly revolving figure.

'Should we get someone to bring him back in?' he asked after a minute.

'There's no rush.'

Garibaldi heard a low moan from behind, looked over his shoulder. The woman had slid down the wall, her mouth moving, no words coming out. He crossed, knelt next to her.

'Hey. Look at me. Look at me. It's not your fault.'

'He-he-' Her face was quivering. 'I tried to tell him. I tried b-but he was moving ... moving too fast. Oh God; oh my God.' Hysteria tinged her voice.

Garibaldi took hold of her shoulders, forced her to face him. 'Listen to me. This was not your fault; no-one is going to blame you.'

She was taking breaths that didn't seem to reach her lungs, her body taut. Over her words and dry sobs Garibaldi heard Sheridan's calm voice requesting a medical team. He kept hold of her, kept talking to her and kept to himself the thought that it was probably the best day's work she'd done in her life.

ooOOoo

Her vision was a white blur at first. Nothingness and then beeps. She recognised those sounds and the smell. Everything ached when she tried to move. Elizabeth blinked and things came into focus slowly and with it came memories. Darkness, no air, and then John's voice. She turned her head and found him sitting in a chair by her bed. Bolt upright, his head sinking down onto his chest; the lines of his face looked harsh.

Elizabeth swallowed, wincing at the tenderness in her throat.

He looked incredibly uncomfortable like that, she thought. And older: his cheeks darkened by stubble, the skin under his eyes looked almost bruised. She should wake him up, tell him to get some proper rest. She could feel her own eyes closing again. In a minute. She'd tell him in a minute.

ooOOoo

Garibaldi rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed up, then spread both arms along the back of the sofa. Susan put a mug of coffee on the table, sat opposite him. He leant forward, took a sip and smiled.

'The real stuff – you're spoiling me.'

'I thought you deserved it.'

'You bet your ass I do.' He sat back. 'Man, I'll be glad when we can put this thing to bed. I've got teams going through that place and they've already uncovered a few things I'd wished they hadn't. He had a whole bunch of vids – apparently he liked to keep records of his ... activities. Oh, and they found his drug stash; he had a bag of Phencyclidine.'

She frowned, shoulders rising inquisitively.

'PCP? They used to call it angel dust.'

Ivanova's eyes widened. 'I didn't know anybody still made that stuff.'

'Well, apparently they do.'

'No wonder you had so much trouble taking him down.'

The coffee was strong and he relished its bitterness. 'Eight guys pounding on him – with that stuff in his system he wouldn't have felt a thing.'

Ivanova cradled her mug between her hands, its warmth spreading through her. She raised it, took a sip, watched him over the rim. 'You know, you don't seem as happy about this as you should be.'

Michael looked at her, placed his mug back on the table. 'No, it's good. It's great. It is. It's- I dunno.' He searched for the words. 'We'll never really know. We'll never know how many or what happened to the ones we don't know about. The victims' families will never get to look him in the face and watch him pay. We'll never get to ask him why.'

'Why? You want to know why? Seriously?' She was incredulous. 'Michael, he did it because he could. He was a psycho freak who killed over sixty women and even if you could have got him to explain it – which I doubt, by the way – do you really think you could understand? Even then? No matter what may have happened to him, not matter what excuses he may have come up with about what made him that way, he had choices and he chose murder. He chose torture and death for a lot of innocent girls and nothing could ever make anyone understand that. And I don't know how much good it would do reliving all of it anyway.' She raked a hand through her hair. 'Maybe it's better this way, even if he did have an easier death than he deserved.'

'Easier?' His lips quirked. 'Don't let Stephen hear you say that.'

Susan smiled, nodded. 'Oh, I forgot. We got a communication through earlier – the family of one of the girls got in touch; they want to know when we can release the body to them.'

'Whose family?'

'Veronica Ryan.'

'Oh.'

She shifted in her chair, settling further back. 'We'll give them all proper funerals.'

'I know, I know. It's just-' Garibaldi shrugged. It was just all so pointless. He drained his mug.

'Would you like some more?'

'No, I'm good, thanks. I think I'm going to head home and get a little shut eye before my shift begins.' He stood, feeling twinges across his lower back. He wasn't getting any younger, he thought. 'I'll see you tomorrow. Or should that be later? It already is tomorrow.'

Ivanova grimaced. 'Don't remind me.'

He slung his jacket over his shoulder, moved a little stiffly. When he had gone Ivanova moved across to the sofa, curled her legs under her and held the coffee mug and its warmth against her chest.

ooOOoo

Elizabeth would be all right. Stephen had told him that and he kept running the words over in his head. Shock, dehydration, some bruising, but that was all. Physically, there was nothing that rest would not soon mend. The weals around her wrists, the purple marks at her throat, would fade.

It was the trauma that would scar her.

She looked tiny in that bed. Fragile. Delicate bones and skin that seemed stretched too tight. He took one of her hands again and his own felt too large, too clumsy around it. Her eyelids flickered, eyes glinting beneath the lashes. They opened wider, unfocused at first.

'Johnny?'

'Ssh. Go back too sleep,' he murmured.

Elizabeth moved, trying to sit up. 'No. I want- I want to talk to you.' Her mouth was so dry, thick, a metallic taste. 'Is there water?'

'Uh...' He looked over at the pedestal by the bed. Yes, there was water. 'Sure.' He poured a glass, held it to her lips and she drank it greedily. The effort drained her for a moment; she rested her head back against the pillows then moved again, lifting herself until she was more upright.

'I'm sorry.'

Sheridan stared at her. 'You're sorry?'

'I-' She brushed loose hairs away from her forehead. 'I should never have gone with him, I should have-' She wavered, pressed her fingers against her eyes. Elizabeth had never cried easily; she felt now that if she started she may never stop.

'Hey, hey. Don't, please don't.' He leant forward, taking her face between his hands, wiping away tears with his fingers. 'I'm the one who's sorry, okay? I left you alone, and-'

'No.' She caught his hands, held them, shook her head. 'No. It was my own fault. You told me to be careful and I wasn't. He came up to me just as I was leaving the restaurant, he said he was a friend and you'd asked him to walk me back to my quarters. I didn't even question it; it's the sort of thing you would do.'

His features were tight. 'It's what I should have done.'

'Will you stop?' He had always done it – blamed himself for more than he should; John had never needed anyone to accuse him of anything, he always did enough of that on his own. Elizabeth raised her chin, gazed at him levelly. 'I should have known better. I mean, I'm always telling the boys never, ever, go anywhere with a stranger, even if they say they know me or their dad. And what do I do? I'm a grown woman, for God's sake.'

The fingers of one hand were still twined through his. Her free hand plucked at the sheet covering her. 'He actually seemed nice, then. Quiet, but nice. A bit nervous, but-' She shrugged. 'I went with him, we got in one of the, uh, tubes; we were alone in there and he injected me with something. It happened so fast I didn't even realise at first. I just suddenly felt really tired, like I could barely stand and then I knew. I just knew and it was too late. I couldn't speak. He took me down through passageways, tunnels, I couldn't even call out for help.' Her hand gripped his harder; she brushed at her face.

Sheridan watched her uneasily. 'Look, maybe you shouldn't do this now.'

'No.' She sniffed, sat up straighter. 'No, I need to. I need to do this now and get it over with.'

Her mouth was set and he didn't argue with her, tried to keep his own face controlled. That she had had to live through it once was bad enough; that she would have to keep reliving it, hoping that the horror would be a little less each time, that was something he could not quite deal with. So much easier if she could simply forget, if the memories could be taken from her. He pushed it aside. If she wanted to talk, he would listen. He'd do anything she needed.

'He had me tied up and blindfolded most of the time.' A spasm crossed her face. 'He said he didn't like to see the eyes.' That quiet voice talking, always talking. 'He took my necklace.'

'We've got it. Actually, I've got it here.' Sheridan let go of her hand, searched in his pocket. He had collected it from Garibaldi with the intention of giving it back to her and had forgotten almost at once. It was tangled and he worked at it patiently, working the kinks out with his fingers. 'There.' She sat forward and he put it around her neck, fiddling with the clasp until it was in place. Her hand moved to it, fingers following the pendant's simple lines.

'He said he would leave it for Delenn.'

'I know.'

'Is she okay?'

'Delenn? Yes, she's fine; he didn't get anywhere near her.' As she had told him, as they had all told him, that hadn't been the point.

'Good, I'm glad. He said it was a move in the game - that's how he talked about it, a game - but then he was really angry when nothing happened. That's when-' She took a deep breath. 'That's when he put the chains on and-and made that recording.' She hated having to tell him, hated knowing what it would do to him to hear it but now that she had started she had to continue. 'He told me about what he'd done. All of those women. God, there are so many of them. I think he enjoyed it, telling me, seeing my reaction. It was like a confession. You know why he told me, don't you? Why it didn't matter that I knew? He was never going to let me go; he never meant for me to live. I know that. I know that I was never supposed to make it out of there.'

He moved to her then, held her and she clung to him, her face buried against his shoulder. He was stroking her hair and she wept, sobs that choked her until there were no more tears left. John still held her even when she had stopped shaking, when she was quiet again. Elizabeth raised her head, her smile watery and her eyes bloodshot but it was still there, the defiance, the stubbornness. She would be all right.

'I, uh,' he cleared his throat, 'I talked to Danny earlier.'

Elizabeth sat back. 'We had a fight.'

He nodded. 'Yeah, I know.'

'It was so stupid.' Her face was already hot; she felt it burn again. 'I don't even remember what it was about anymore. I wanted to make a big statement-' She looked at him wryly. 'We've always been good at that, haven't we?'

'Runs in the family.'

She shook her head. 'As soon as I'd left I regretted it; but I was already on my way here and the closer I got the more I wanted to see you. Is he okay? Danny, I mean. And the boys?'

'They're all fine. Danny's been going out of his mind but he's okay. He's going to catch a flight out here tomorrow and-'

'No, he doesn't have to do that.'

'Liz, for God's sake-'

Her eyes flashed. 'I said no. Look, I'll be fine tomorrow. I want to go home. I want to see my sons and I can do that sooner if I just go instead of waiting here and-'

'Okay, okay.' He held up his hands. 'Look, Danny is calling me back in a few hours; I'll have it patched through here so you can talk to him and we'll sort it all out then. All right?'

She chewed her lower lip. It had always been pointless trying to argue with John; she could use the time to think of a more subtle way to reason with him. 'Okay.' Her eyes closed for a moment. Her head felt as though it were filled with cotton wool. The sedative, probably - she'd prescribed enough of them to know the effects.

'Why don't you try to get some more sleep?'

Her eyes opened again. 'You should do that yourself; you look exhausted.'

He smiled. 'I'm fine.'

'Liar. Go on, go get some sleep. I'm all right here.'

'I'll stay until you're asleep.'

She was gone almost immediately her eyes closed again, her breathing slower, heavier. Her face looked less troubled now, he thought; it wasn't just a drugged sleep she had fallen into. He was under no illusions that her recovery would be so simple but, perhaps, this had done her some good. His link chimed and he ignored it. Again and he considered dropping the thing out of the nearest airlock. Sheridan passed a hand over his face. They wouldn't leave him alone until he answered it. He moved to the doorway, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't disturb her.

'Sir, there's a message coming through for you on Gold Channel.'

The last thing he needed. Sheridan took a moment, gathered himself. 'Okay, thanks. I'll take it in my office.'

He glanced back at the bed again. Elizabeth had turned slightly onto her side, one hand curled under her cheek, just like when she was a kid. He ran both hands through his hair, stretched out his shoulders. The dressing on his arm felt bulky under the sleeve of his jacket. He had thought when it was all over, when she was safe, he would feel jubilant. It had brought a strange kind of numbness; he felt as though he'd been sandbagged. He rubbed at his face and realised that he was a mess. A shower, hot coffee, maybe he'd be able to feel a bit more normal. He started for the door and stopped at the movement caught on the edge of his vision. A bright flash that he thought he must have imagined.

Delenn moved forward, glanced at Elizabeth's room and back to him.

'How is she?'

'She's fine. Well, she will be fine.'

'Good. And how are you?'

'Oh...' He sighed. 'I'm not sure. I think I've spent so much time the last few days feeling scared I've forgotten how to feel anything else.'

Delenn nodded. 'It is not uncommon, I believe. The feeling will come, once you have rested.'

He laughed and she saw, with gratitude, that his face relaxed; he seemed himself again.

'Not you too. Do I really look that bad?'

'I did not mean-' She stopped, smiled. 'But you are going to rest, yes?'

'Not exactly.' He ran a hand across his chin. 'I've got a call I have to take. I hate leaving her.'

Delenn hesitated; then, 'I will sit with her.'

John's eyes wandered over her face. 'You don't have to do that.'

'I know; but I would like to.'

He was silent and she wondered what he was thinking as he looked at her; she had learnt to read his face, come to understand the meaning behind tiny gestures and movements but at times he was still a mystery to her. His eyes held the greatest fascination: their curious colour changing subtly depending on the light, even on his mood. Did the different shades have set meanings? she wondered. If she knew them, would it be possible to unlock the secrets behind his eyes?

'You know, one day we're going to get through an entire week where I don't have to thank you for something.'

He watched her smile widen.

'There is no need for thanks; is that not what friends do for one another?'

His head tilted. 'Yes, I suppose friends do. Look, I won't be away for long.'

'You should take the time,' she responded gently, 'it might do you some good.'

Sheridan paused and then laughed softly. She looked at him, puzzled, inquisitive.

'I'm sorry.' He shook his head. 'I just remembered something that Michael said to me earlier – that you're not an easy lady to argue with.'

'Ah.' Delenn nodded but there was a twitch at the corners of her mouth that betrayed her seriousness. 'In that case it may be best that you do not attempt it. Rest, eat. You will be better able to give your sister aid once you yourself are stronger.'

The thought was both tempting and rational; it was time that he went back to being rational, not simply playing at it and pretending to himself and everyone else that he was fully in control.

'Okay, I know when I'm beat. If Liz wakes up, will you tell her that I'll be back soon?' Sheridan eyed her critically. 'And don't stay too long yourself; I guess you haven't been getting much sleep either lately.'

She inclined her head. It was neither confirmation nor denial and certainly not an agreement to his stipulation; they both knew that.

Delenn watched him leave, saw the stiffening of his spine, the set of his shoulders as he shifted into his public, professional face. They were subtle differences but obvious to anyone who saw as keenly as Delenn did. She turned away, entered the room where Elizabeth still slept and sat quietly in the chair by the bed.

For a time she studied the woman's face. In sleep the resemblance between brother and sister was almost non-existent, the lines of their faces so different. The similarities lay elsewhere and Delenn could read them clearly in Elizabeth's face. Compassion, strength, humour, honour. All the things she saw in him were there, written into his sister's features. Delenn settled herself. She would keep watch until he returned; her thoughts were more than enough company while she waited.


	10. Chapter 10

_December 31_

The departure hall was, as always, bustling and held the atmosphere of chaos being held at bay but only just. Sheridan had steered his sister into a relatively quiet corner and they sat close together, voices a little louder than usual to make themselves heard. Elizabeth still looked too pale for his liking and he would swear that she was thinner than she had been when she had arrived. Only a few days before, he reminded himself. It seemed so long ago now. The sleeves of her shirt were pulled down, hiding the marks around her wrists but at the open neck the bruises across her throat were visible and Sheridan still felt that quick rush of anger when he saw them.

'You could stay on for a few more days, you know; until you've got all your strength back.'

She gazed at him tolerantly. 'I'm fine. For the millionth time, I'm okay. Dr Franklin gave me the all clear.'

He snorted. 'Only because you bullied him into it.'

'And you tried to bully him into keeping me in what amounted to the I.C.U.' She tilted her head to one side, raised her eyebrows and gave him a smile whose sweetness didn't fool him for a minute. 'Guess that makes us even.'

Sheridan sighed. 'Yeah, maybe. You always were stubborn.'

Elizabeth smiled. 'I learnt that from you.' She placed a hand on his arm. 'Honestly, I feel so much better. And I really do just want to get home and ... and talk to Danny face-to-face.'

He put his hand over hers. 'You two are okay, aren't you?'

'We're fine. It was all so stupid.' She shook her head. 'But that doesn't matter now.'

A small commotion attracted their attention and they watched as a stout and evidently high-born Centauri woman remonstrated with the porters who had dropped several pieces of her unending luggage. A Narn stood nearby, laughing openly, laughed harder when the irate lady turned her wrath on him. The hall security moved in smoothly and Elizabeth turned back to her brother, her lips still twitching.

'This is quite a place.'

He smiled. 'You wouldn't be the first to notice. Look, I've been thinking: I have some leave owing and I thought I could take it and fly out and see you. If you can handle me clogging up the place for a couple of weeks.'

'Really?'

'Yeah.'

He always looked so much younger when he smiled, she thought. 'Oh, that would be wonderful. Can-can you spare the time?'

'Like I said, I have the time owing. And I can't think of a way I'd sooner spend it.'

It had been so long since he had last visited her. It had been with Anna, of course. And after Anna died it had been as though he couldn't bear to be anywhere that she had or see anyone who could remind him of her. Even Elizabeth.

'How about April?' she said. 'Come in the spring - it's beautiful in the spring, you'll love it.'

Sheridan's eyes crinkled. 'April it is.'

Elizabeth looked so happy at just the thought of it. Such a simple thing; he should have done it long before now and somehow all the reasons he had had for not going no longer made much sense. He couldn't quite remember what they had been anymore. He glanced up at the departures board.

'You'll be boarding soon.'

'Yeah. You know, even with everything else, I'm so glad I got to see you. I miss you.'

'I know. I miss you, too.'

She embraced him, slim arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder; he held her gently. Elizabeth moved back, tucking her hair behind her ear; her eyes slipped past him and her face brightened.

'Oh, good.'

She stood, waved. Sheridan twisted around, looking over his shoulder, eyes raking the crowds. Delenn walked towards them, threading her way through, a soft package in her arms.

Elizabeth smiled at her. 'I didn't think I was going to get to see you again before I left.'

Delenn inclined her head. 'I did not wish to impose at this time.'

'You're not,' Elizabeth said quickly; she paused. 'You're really not. I'm glad you came.' To John, 'I sent Delenn a message asking her to come. I wanted to say good-bye.'

Delenn's gaze shifted for a moment to Sheridan and a fleeting smile passed between them; she held the package to her chest. 'Minbari do not have a word for good-bye.' She was hesitant, her smile a little uncertain. 'We have rituals for being apart but that is not the same thing. But I wished to give you this.'

Elizabeth took the soft package, pulled at one side. There was a flash of bright, embroidered silk.

'The robes are given as a sign of welcome, it is tradition,' Delenn told her. 'However, they can also be offered as a sign of friendship. I would like to think that you would consider me your friend.'

'They're beautiful; thank-you, Delenn, thank-you so much. And of course I do.' Elizabeth juggled the parcel in her arms, the slippery wrapping awkward. She stepped forward, embraced the other woman.

Delenn was still for a moment and then, tentatively, put her arms around Elizabeth, returning the embrace.

Elizabeth pulled back, brushed the hair away from her eyes. 'I'm sorry, I don't know how people greet one another in your culture.'

Delenn smiled, placed one hand over her heart and the other over Elizabeth's; she bowed her head and the blonde mimicked the motion until their foreheads almost touched.

'Flight oh-nine-four-seven to Proxima Three is now ready for boarding. Will all passengers please proceed to Gate Five.' The precise, soft voice was clearly heard in the hall. There was a collective sigh, a rush of movement as passengers collected belongings.

Delenn took a few steps back, turned to give Sheridan and his sister what little privacy was possible.

'You take care of yourself, you hear me?' Elizabeth looked at him earnestly.

'I will. And the same goes for you.'

'And April - you won't forget?'

'I won't forget.'

'Promise?'

John laughed. 'I promise. Cross my heart.' A moment. 'Say hi to Danny for me.'

She raised her eyebrows at him. 'I will.'

'And the kids. God, they must be huge by now.'

'Almost as tall as you; you'll see for yourself in-'

'April, I know. It was my idea, remember?'

'This is the boarding call for all passengers on flight oh-nine-four-seven to Proxima Three. Will all passengers please make their way to Gate Five.'

'You better go.'

'Yes.' She adjusted the bag over her shoulder, held Delenn's gift carefully in her arms. They held one another, briefly, and he walked her to the gate, watched until her slim figure was lost in the stream of passengers.

Delenn was waiting for him and he guided her through, back into the corridors leading from the hall.

'I'm glad you could meet Liz.'

'As am I. I liked her very much.'

'And she liked you.'

He had slowed his longer strides to match her shorter steps; it was a rhythm that had become familiar without either of them even noticing; they walked side-by-side with no particular destination. John glanced at her, noticed the amusement in her face.

'What?'

'Oh...' She tossed the hair away from her shoulders. 'It had occurred to me that you and Elizabeth - Liz,' she corrected herself, 'are very similar in some ways.'

He tilted his head. 'Oh?'

'Yes. You both have the tendency to blame yourselves for things far more than you should.'

His lips twitched. 'Oh, do we?'

'Yes.' Her mouth had curved, that slightly lop-sided smile she sometimes had. 'For example, the story that you told me about when you were children.'

He looked at her. 'You mean the barn?'

'Yes.'

'You asked her about that?'

'I must confess, I was very curious.' She stopped, looked up at him. 'Forgive me, should I not have done so? I did not believe that it was a confidence you wished to remain secret.'

'No, no, it's not that. It's fine.' His own curiosity was aroused. They resumed their steps. 'What did she say?'

'Her memory of that event is somewhat different to yours. As Liz told it to me, you had made her promise that she would never attempt to jump from the beam but that as soon as you had-' how was it Elizabeth had phrased it? '-had turned your back, she did it anyway.' She smiled again. 'So you see: you blame yourself, she blames herself. The truth may lie somewhere in between.'

Truth? What is that? The phrase echoed in his head. He smiled at her. 'Maybe so.' There were heavier crowds as they approached the gardens.

'It is busy this evening,' Delenn noted.

'Yes.' He watched the rushing figures for a moment. 'It's New Year's Eve; with everything else I'd forgotten about it.' Already after seven, they would be starting soon.

'New Year's Eve,' she repeated. 'That is your Festival of Rebirth for the year, yes?'

'That's a nice way of putting it. Yes, I suppose; to be honest, for most people it's an excuse for one big party. Oh, and New Year Resolutions.'

She looked at him inquisitively.

'They're the good intentions you go into the New Year with – all the promises you make to yourself about, oh, bad habits you'll give up, good ones you'll take up. That sort of thing.'

Delenn nodded. 'I understand. We do not celebrate the New Year as you do; for us it is a solemn time of reflection and a belief in hope for the future.' She hesitated. 'There is, however, a, uh ... superstition ... from before the time of Valen, which is still believed in by many, that whatever the first activity that you find yourself engaged in, which falls outside of your regular routine, will be the activity that determines your actions for the rest of the year.'

'Your people have some very lovely ideas.' Sheridan paused. 'I'm glad that I've been able to learn that.' They still walked slowly. He watched her out of the corners of his eyes, absorbed that clean, proud profile. 'It occurs to me that you've helped me to understand a lot more about the Minbari and their ways than I have you about Humans.'

She moved towards him slightly, instinctively angling away from the rush of people passing them in the other direction. 'But you have helped me to understand a great deal, especially when it comes to your language.'

That ever growing list of things and he would always explain to her so patiently.

'Uh, yes...'

There was that twitch at her lips again; she enjoyed teasing him gently, he had come to realise.

'Are you coming to the celebrations tonight?'

Her eyes widened. 'I... I had not thought. I have never attended one before. In my first year here I was on my homeworld at this time; and last year, I...' She glanced down. 'I had begun the transformation.'

'Oh,' he said softly. 'Well, in my book that's one more thing to celebrate.'

'Yes?'

'Absolutely. Celebrate you. I mean your transformation. Celebrate your transformation.' And there it was, he thought with resignation; back to that strange dislocation that occurred at times like this. But he had a feeling that his first statement had been closer to the truth. 'If that's appropriate, of course; you probably have rituals you'd want to perform.'

Ritual was so much a part of who she was, of how she understood her world; but in this... 'There are none. There is no ... precedent ... for this. But I believe that I would like to attend the celebration tonight.'

'Great.'

He looked almost relieved.

'It will be a first for both of us – I haven't seen a New Year's party here, either.'

'I will wish to change my attire for something more appropriate.'

'Yes. Of course. Uh, look, why don't I meet you at the north entrance in about an hour? Is that enough time?'

She nodded again. 'Yes, that is more than adequate. I... I will see you later.'

They parted formally, each taking a different route. An hour – it would give him the time to see to something that he had been intending to do for a while but had kept putting off. No more evasion, he decided. He would begin the New Year as he intended to go on.

ooOOoo

A standard Earth year, to the very day. Delenn had not thought of it until their conversation. So many differences now and not only in herself. She pushed the combs into her hair, pinning it into place, studied her reflection. There were times when she could not quite recall what she had looked like before; she had to think, concentrate, before she could bring to mind the image that had greeted her from the mirror each day. The changes in her face were not so very great, she had to admit; but taken as a whole the person she was now and the person she had been then, to look at, were strangers.

Her fingers wandered over her face, tracing the lines.

At times, only in her dreams, was she still what she had once been; she would raise a hand and feel under her fingers the hard ridges of a full headbone. That had been the worst loss. She had felt stripped without it: her head too light, too exposed. After such dreams, when she woke, it would be some minutes before memory would return and sometimes that memory caught her like a blow.

She applied colour to her lips, her cheeks, considered the effect.

Humans took every opportunity to celebrate, she had noticed. All occasions were marked in some way, frequently with food, music and dancing. A little like the Centauri, but lacking the frantic desperation that served as an undercurrent to all Centauri gatherings. That deep despair they distracted themselves from with the oblivion of pleasure and consequently they felt almost nothing at all.

Delenn wiped some of the stain from her mouth. Better, she thought.

It would never have occurred to her that this day, for her, was one that should be marked. Celebrated. If anything, she would have lost herself in deep meditation.

Humans, too, had some lovely ideas. The Resolution Ritual that John had described to her. It was a good idea, one that she could easily incorporate into her own beliefs.

And she was, now, partly one of them, was she not? It would make sense to adopt some of their customs. She stood, smoothed down the fabric of her dress with her hands. Good intentions for the future; yes, that was a very good idea.

ooOOoo

The trees in the gardens had been decorated with strings of tiny white lights; trellises twined with ivy and roses at the entrances; music rose above voices, laughter and the soft tinkling from the fountains. Everything had been made beautiful and the part-goers seemed to have responded to the change in atmosphere with enthusiasm. The sense of dread that had been so pervasive had lifted. For a time at least.

There would always be something new to worry over and at, Sheridan thought, but for tonight he would ignore all of those possibilities.

It was good to see everyone so happy. He hovered near the entrance, feeling a little self-conscious, eyes flicking from the darker passageway to the crowds in the gardens and back. A young Centauri woman sidled past, eyes glancing up at him from under lowered lashes and she smiled. He returned it reflexively and she ducked her head, turned and busied herself with playing with the tangle of flowers around the trellis. She stretched herself up gracefully, giving him every opportunity to admire her figure. It was a figure to be admired – long, slender, her arms rounded, her dress both concealing her body and hinting at what lay beneath. She was a lovely creature but her loveliness was entirely superficial: pretty, flashy, petty, wholly unlike-

He caught his breath. He always caught his breath when he saw Delenn.

She swayed as she walked towards him, black silk hugging her form. The same dress she had worn that night at the _Fresh Air_ and he had thought then that he had never seen anything as beautiful as her. Never anything as desirable; and the wave of it now was so strong that he could do nothing but stand and watch her come to him.

'I had thought that this would be appropriate for the occasion,' she said when she reached him.

He moistened his lips. 'It is. You look beautiful.'

'Thank-you.'

'Shall we?' He gestured her inside and they walked into the gardens together, Delenn's head moving, absorbing the scene. One movement caught her attention - Susan Ivanova, sitting at a table with Garibaldi, waving across to them.

'They staked their claim earlier,' Sheridan said.

It looked as though most of the station had decided to join the festivities and despite the number of people the air held a lightness, something good-natured. It was not exclusively Human – there were other aliens, too, evidently curious about this night and what it meant. They moved on, the captain offering her his arm and guiding her through the crowds. Almost protectively, she thought.

They skirted the edge of the dancefloor, pausing for a moment to watch the couples rotating in time to the music.

'Ah, my dear Captain Sheridan.'

Sheridan turned, already knowing he would find Londo Mollari behind him. The great jewel on his lapel – the sign of some Order bestowed many years before – gleamed. He carried two glasses, both heavily inlaid with gold in the ornate style of his people.

Sheridan straightened. 'Ambassador.'

The Centauri smiled, turned his attention on Delenn with an air of affected surprise. 'And Delenn – forgive me, I had not realised. I saw this beautiful woman on the captain's arm and wondered who she could be. I should have known.' His smile widened, showing more of his teeth.

Delenn inclined her head; her own smile didn't reach her eyes.

Londo leant a little closer to Sheridan. 'I understand that the ... unpleasantness ... has been resolved? You sister has returned home, yes?'

'Yes, she has.' Sheridan looked him over. 'I wanted to thank you again for what you did. It... It meant a lot to us; and to me personally, of course.'

Londo looked pained; his shoulders rose slightly, dropped. 'Please, let us not speak of that. Such things do not need to be discussed between friends. It was nothing. It was my privilege to be of assistance.'

It was his most reasonable tone. And his most insincere. This benevolence would not last, Sheridan had no doubt of that but tonight he was in the mood to forgive almost anything.

'Very well, if that's how you prefer it.'

'But of course. Now, we drink – yes?'

He held one of the glasses out to Sheridan. The captain hesitated for a moment, accepted it.

'Brivari, Captain. The very best. I brought it from my own supply.' Another of those full, cold smiles. 'Only the best for my good friend.' Londo held up his glass in salute.

Sheridan felt Delenn stiffen at his side; her gaze was fixed on the glass in his hand. He checked it halfway to his mouth. Londo looked almost amused. It was an insane thought. Poison, here, now. He raised the glass.

The Brivari tasted like three drinks at once and they all burnt the back of his throat. He blinked, swallowed hard and waited until he could trust himself to speak. 'Thank-you,' he replied levelly.

Londo nodded, the stiff hair immobile as he reclaimed the glass and placed both on a table nearby. He held out his hands to Delenn.

'Now, Delenn, you will dance with me, yes? It will be a good sign for the coming year - friendship between our two great people.'

'I...' Her chin had lifted; Delenn regarded him calmly. 'As you wish.'

She allowed him to lead her to the floor, stood stiffly, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other clasped in his. They moved a little awkwardly, Londo more accustomed to this style of dance than she but neither entirely comfortable. There was more distance between them than the other couples.

'A fine fellow, our Captain Sheridan, do you not think?'

She murmured something in response.

Over the Centauri's shoulder she saw Sheridan motion to the table where Susan and Michael were waiting; she nodded, watched him pick his away through the crowds to them.

'How did Delenn land that gig?' Garibaldi asked him as he sat down, jerking his chin towards the couple on the dancefloor.

Sheridan smiled, shook his head. 'He asked. I don't know what's going on in that head of his and I'm not sure that I want to.' He glanced back, losing Delenn's figure in the midst of other bodies all moving in time. His fingers beat out the time of the music on the tabletop. Another pair captured his restless attention. Yuki Ogawa, face bright with laughter, looking up at Franklin.

'Whatever happened to doctors not fraternising with patients?'

Susan sipped her drink, eyed the pair critically and wondered if the doctor knew just what he was getting himself into. Only a matter of time, she concluded. 'Apparently it depends on which perspective you view it from.'

'Right.'

'And she's not his patient anymore,' Garibaldi added.

'Now, that is a reason that makes sense.'

The music changed, a faster tempo and Londo escorted Delenn across to their table. He bowed to them all, took his leave gravely.

Garibaldi leaned back in his chair. 'Congratulations on surviving,' he told her.

Delenn smiled. 'Ambassador Mollari is, I believe, more tiring to talk to than he is to dance with.'

He laughed. 'I'll take your word for it.'

ooOOoo

With the crowds, music and laughter, Vir could almost believe that he was back on his homeworld - although this was a far more mellow gathering than would be found on Centauri Prime. He had passed some of the time with Lennier, the young Minbari watching events with apparent dispassion. He had not remained for long and Vir had come to the conclusion that this manner of festivity was not to the taste of his more cerebral colleague. The Minbari were not an exuberant people. Ambassador Delenn, however, seemed to have more appreciation, though she had done little more than remain with the captain and his officers.

Vir wandered through the maze. There were pairs everywhere, more in evidence tonight than before: Dr Franklin and that dark, good-looking girl he had been dancing with; the captain and Delenn. They made a handsome couple he thought. Yes, there were pairs, each person finding another.

And he had...

He had Londo.

Vir reached the central space, crossed back to the ambassador's table and seated himself.

'Londo.'

The older Centauri had sunk down in his chair, his chin almost resting on his chest; he started, blinked irritably at his aide.

Vir linked his fingers together. 'I wanted to say that I enjoy working with you.'

'Great Maker.' Londo viewed him in disgust. 'I do not know if you have had too much Brivari or not enough.'

And that would be the best he could expect, Vir reflected. He poured himself a little of the Brivari.

Londo sighed. 'Why don't you go and find yourself a nice Centauri girl and ask her to dance, eh? I'm sure you have better things to do than sit here looking at me.'

Londo was impossible. Arrogant, demanding, selfish and vain. A typical Centauri of his rank and breeding. There were times when Vir dreaded entering those overly decorated quarters. But there was that fear, constantly, deep behind the ambassador's eyes. It was desperate at times. Even now, he could see it.

'I'm fine, Londo. Maybe later.'

Londo made a noise in the back of his throat, sank back down.

ooOOoo

Garibaldi played with his glass, placed it down beside his plate. Their table was littered with the remnants of supper, wilting flowers and streamers. One chair occupied by the solid, wrapped, something that Sheridan had deposited when he had arrived and not touched since. The captain had fallen victim to Susan's demands and was engaged in steering her slightly unsteady form around the floor.

Garibaldi cleared his throat. 'Ambassador-' He stopped. 'Delenn.'

She turned to him.

'I, uh, I wanted to say thank-you for everything you've done this week.'

Her head moved slightly. 'I have already said to Captain Sheridan that such thanks is not necessary. I am glad that anything I may have been able to do was of help.'

'Well, it wasn't just what you did, it was...' He shrugged. Maybe it was the directness of her gaze that brought that calm clarity to everything. 'It's good to have you on our side. Anyway, I'm grateful and I wanted you to know that.'

She smiled, accepting; she had claimed one of the fallen blossoms, turned it gently between her fingers.

'Okay, Garibaldi – your turn.'

He started, looked up. 'Uh, I don't really dance. Stephen – there's your man. He can cut a rug with the best of them.'

Susan was undeterred. 'Nuh-uh. When a lady asks you to dance, you dance.'

Sheridan, bemused, had taken his seat. 'Up you get, Michael, that's an order.' He lowered his voice, leant closer to the other man. 'She's just trampled all over my feet with her two left ones; if I had to go through it, so do you.'

Garibaldi threw down his napkin. 'You know, one day you're going to pull rank and it'll turn right around and bite you in the ass.'

Sheridan offered him a mock salute; the pair departed, Garibaldi still trailing Ivanova reluctantly. He sighed, settling himself. 'So.' He gestured with one hand, palm turned upwards. 'This is New Year's Eve.'

'It is most interesting.'

He frowned, his head tilting. 'Interesting.'

'That is not the correct word?'

'Well, it's usually what people say when they hate something and are just trying to be polite.'

She laughed a little and he watched the way colour played across her cheeks. 'I am enjoying it, if that is what you meant.'

'Yes, it is; and I'm glad.' He was silent for a moment. 'Delenn-'

A voice over the loudspeaker drowned out his words. The music stopped, the dancers were still and everyone who had been sitting stood.

'What is happening?'

'It's the countdown – ten seconds to midnight.'

'Ten... Nine... Eight...'

She stood next to him.

'Five... Four...'

The sound came in a wave, all voices joining the count.

'Two... One...'

It broke in cheering, a wave of sound that rolled around the space; strains of a song whose words were lost but that many took up; beyond the great windows a squadron of Starfuries performed a fly-past. When the lights went out the volume dropped slightly, confusion muffling the revelry. Spotlights picked out a figure high on the rails overhead. A figure, it was soon apparent, that was falling to the ground. Murmurs from the watchers, a faint cry, sharp, that was cut off.

It was picking up speed, descending towards the gardens, close enough that when that lone figure unfurled a banner the legend it bore was easily read.

_Happy New Year, Babylon 5_

Sound rose again: more cheers, louder than before.

Delenn watched the final descent, the jetpacks delivering the well-wisher safely to ground.

'John.'

'Hm?' He met her gaze mildly.

'You made a promise.'

'No, I didn't. And I certainly didn't make one on anyone else's behalf. I simply put forward an idea and one of the guys from Delta Squadron volunteered.'

Her lips curved. Such an impetuous race.

The music had started again. Sheridan looked across the crowds: saw Susan and Michael bickering amiably at another table they had claimed, Stephen and his Ranger wandering in the direction of the maze. He turned back to Delenn.

'Now that we have a few minutes, I, uh- Well, after our conversation earlier I remembered that there's something I've been meaning to give to you; I just never seemed to get around to it and ... and now seems like a good time.'

He retrieved the neatly wrapped parcel, held it out to her looking almost as uncomfortable as he felt.

'Oh.' She blinked at it, felt its weight in her hands. 'But I do not have anything to give to you.'

'That-' He shook his head, smiled. She liked to see him smile. 'That isn't the point. It's not much, just something that I thought you might like. Please.'

She pulled away the wrappings. It was a book, bound in leather, its pages fine, delicate almost. The writing on its cover was in faded gold; she tilted it in the light to make out the title.

'He's one of our most famous writers; a lot of people believe that everything you need to know about the human condition can be found in something that Shakespeare wrote.'

'It is beautiful.' Her hand ran over its surface, the old leather cool and smooth. 'Thank-you.'

'You're welcome.'

She opened the front cover, stopped at the inscription on the first page.

_To Delenn,_

_With much gratitude and admiration,_

_John Sheridan_

_New Year, 2259_

She looked up and he was smiling again. 'Happy New Year.'

Delenn nodded, repeating this new formula. 'Happy New Year.'

They watched each other until, slowly, he leant forward. Something Susan had told her, explained to her, only a few days ago; she could not quite remember. She closed her eyes and his lips brushed against her cheek. They had been this close before; he had held her before; but not like this. Everything slowed, blurred, and she breathed him in.

John pulled back, just enough that he could see her clearly; her face was solemn, but her eyes...

Delenn placed her book on the table carefully; he took her hand, put his other arm around her waist, drawing her to him. She rested her hand on his shoulder and they joined the rest of the couples in the shared privacy of the dancefloor.

_**FIN**_


End file.
